#I wish people talked about his trauma more
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this town is fake but you're the real thing
cw: 11k wc, female reader, social media relationship, suna downloads an app that randomly matches anonymous users with each other because osamu thinks it'll help him open up more, strangers to lovers, romance, pining, so much texting, suna is as emotionally constipated as it gets
Against all expectations, itâs Osamu who managed to get under his skin.
An innocent night out to celebrate the new Onigiri Miya branch in Shizuoka, a few beers shared on a bench by the port, what started as innocent conversation about each otherâs dating life soon turning into a painfully precise evaluation of why he canât seem to find someone worth keeping around.
âYou donât really open up to themâ, his friend shrugged.
âI open up to them plenty. Iâve been with Yuki for three monthsâ, Suna refuted such harsh remark with a scowl.
âYeahâ, Samu mused, âhave you ever shared anything about your friends and family? Whatâs the most vulnerable thought or feeling you discussed?â.
Rintaro took a moment to reflect, begrudging silence weighing more each second spent quiet.
âShe met Motoyaâ.
Osamu rolled his eyes, âShit, youâre rightâ canât believe ya didnât propose. Meeting Komoriâs the real dealâ.
âYou know, if I wanted to hang out with the twin whoâd be a pain in my ass, I wouldâve called your brotherâ.
With a snort and a handsome grin, Osamu lightly bumped his shoulder against Sunaâs. âYa love usâ, then his gaze softened as he took a swig from the bottle, âIâm just sayinâ. Maybe a relationship is not what you need right nowâ.
âThen what do I need?â, despite a fiery remonstrance, Rintaro found himself leaning onto Osamuâs judgement. Heâd always been very good at reading people, much like his brother, but Samuâs approach was always balanced and, most importantly, sincere. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there was something heâs missing about himself, something that shined bright for his best friend to catch instead.
âA connection, dumbassâ, Osamu lightly pat his shoulder, âit doesnât have to be romantic. It definitely doesnât have to be sexual. You need to find someone you can talk toâ.
âI talkââ
âSomeone who isnât us. Not me, not âTsumuâ, he ignored Rintaroâs indignant scoff, ânot Shinsuke, not Aran. You need to get out of your comfort zone with someone new. A stranger!â.
âA stranger? You want me to stop someone on the street and casually ask them to listen to whatever trauma is tied to my fear of flying?â.
âStart smallâ, Osamuâs eyes glinted with the excitement that a good idea usually brings, âtry that app Bokuto was trying so hard to get Sakusa to download. Matchpal, was it?â.
âSounds like a great way to have a fifty year old creep flash me with a dick pic. No, thank youâ.
âIâd think about it. Ya know, weâre not getting any younger. Like âTsumu said, youââ
âI should hurry up before I grow old with only my emotional unavailability to keep me company, I rememberâ, Rintaro finished his beer with a grimace. Osamu chuckled, eventually dropped the topic, but the suggestion remained unpleasantly hanging over his head both like a succulent fruit and a risky presage.
So now heâs slumped in the living room of the spacious apartment the EJP provides, a quiet Friday evening spent cooking some stew for dinner and facetiming his family. The tv is on as a distraction and an easy way out should things get uncomfortable. Surely Dwight will keep him grounded.
Sunaâs already downloaded the app but it takes one episode and a half to muster the courage to actually tap on it.Â
The interface is pretty easy to navigate. It seems heâs supposed to create a minimalist profile first and then heâd be free to start a new, random chat. Users can opt out anytime or, if they wish to keep a specific person as their anonymous match, add them as a friend and pin the conversation within their personal directory. Nothing too complicated.
Sunaâs patience wears thin easily and after a few attempts at picking unavailable usernames, he settles for crysnoopy. Finally, original enough at last.
Since not revealing oneâs identity seems to be the point of the entire thing, he canât upload a profile picture and instead has to select one random avatar from the default library. He picks a cartoon frog with big eyes and no mouth on a light green background.
There he is, an anonymous online presence on a stupid app. His profile only contains a nickname, he/him pronouns, age and a cute icon. No interests listed, no boundaries, not a single space where he could leave a polite noteâ please donât send unsolicited dick pics. Not that he ever plans on requesting one.
Suna starts a few new chats, faceless identities either ending the conversation right away upon his dry and unoriginal hey or being as odd as one would imagine strangers in an anonymous community could be.
Lavenderhaze
-> Hi.
Lavenderhaze
-> How are you?
He sinks deeper into the nice couch pillows Atsumu forced him to get.
crysnoopy
-> hey. all good, wbu?
Lavenderhaze
-> Good, bored.
Lavenderhaze
-> Should we exchange nudes or something?
Rintaro sighs. Hesitation is laced into the delay of his thumb but eventually he taps the skip option, Osamuâs ominous words still ringing loud and clear in his head. Itâs not what he downloaded the dumb app for, itâs not what he needs right now. Fuck, maybe he really shouldâve called Atsumu instead.
A new chat opens after a short loading time and his nose wrinkles when he realizes that heâll probably have to send the first message this time. The username staring back at him is original enough to make Suna take a few seconds to think of something equally entertaining to say. The whole thing is never going to work if he doesnât take it seriously and actually puts some effort in it, right?
He looks up from his phone for a second. Then, a loud ping makes him jump.
Unfinishedusernam
-> When you shower, do you actively wash your legs or just let soapy water rinse down on them?
Rintaro almost huffs out a laugh. Original username and approach? A good enough start to ignite the hope of finally be talking to someone sane.
crysnoopy
-> I donât shower.
A beat passes, then the small animation of a hand idly scribbling with a pencil indicates that youâre typing something back.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Thatâs hot.
-> Why the username?
Sunaâs lips twitch, not a smile but almost. He wants to type an equally sarcastic reply, brush the question off and maybe ask something more interesting instead. But then he remembers what heâs doing and forces an honest reply out of his fingers.
crysnoopy
-> my little sister used to scream like an eagle when she cried, the one thing that always shut her up was a snoopy plush I won at the arcade.
Suna barely registers that his leg starts bouncing lightly as he watches the little hand appear on the screen once more.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Iâm glad itâs something cute :)
-> Lowkey thought you were an incel
This time he really does snort out half a laugh.
crysnoopy
-> if I was I wouldâve asked why your username is edging me.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Fair. So⊠you do shower, right?
crysnoopy
-> I promise I do.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Damn, my incel detector has truly failed me.
-> You seem suspiciously normal btw, I feel like we could have a conversation that doesn't involve dicks
Sunaâs hand blindly reaches for the remote to lower the volume of the show he currently doesnât seem to need as additional emotional support.
crysnoopy
-> likewise. wanna make it official?
Unfinishedusernam
-> Jeez, at least buy me dinner first
Rintaroâs beat to it, before he can even click on the option thereâs already a colorful notification popping up on his screen, informing that he has a new friend request.
He accepts it.
It took some convincing for Samu to agree but, eventually, the spot on the pull-out couch became his. Between Hyogo and Shizuoka, with imminent plans of further expanding in Tokyo, heâs always travelling to make sure the shops are keeping their top quality standard high. The Shizuoka branch is still too recent for him to retreat back to his hometown for good, so heâs there most of the time. Suna had to call him an idiot a million times before Osamu accepted his hospitality, never one to ask for anything, always first in line to help others instead. Suna thinks he still didnât call him an idiot enough times.
Theyâre both gone most of the day anyway, between the restaurant and training. The season is about to start and the trip to Osaka feels more imminent than ever, Suna knows he has to be at the top of his game to perform exactly how heâs expected to. Which means, no distractions. He does a good job at avoiding those, dating apps left unopened and the way home now shorter than usual, to circumvent his favorite bakery. Those blueberry muffins will have to wait. Samuâs healthier alternative with gram oats and bananas is one hell of a substitute anyway.
Suna loves his friend, he really does. The house feels less empty when heâs around and thereâs always a homemade meal tucked somewhere in the fridge. They share breakfast when they get up at the same time and night conversations at the kitchen table if Rintaro manages to stay awake late enough to wait for Osamu to be back.
But sometimes, being alone is easier. No explanations owed for the one distraction he seems unable to give up, no curious raise of the eyebrows heâd have to confront when the familiar ping from his phone prompts an immediate reaction the wrong twin would tease him endlessly for.
Heâs always been a dry texter or so his friends, teammates and relatives have always told him. Suna didnât ever think he was supposed to make an effort to become better at written communication, or communication in general. But now, thereâs you. A faceless, perhaps not entirely sane someone who makes him check his notifications way too often, insides spasming when the message doesnât come from one of his groupchats and the Matchpal icon flashes across the screen instead.
Suna likes talking to you, so much that he often finds himself being the one to text first. Itâs okay if youâll take hours to get back to him sometimes, he knows for certain that the message is eventually going to light up his screen and thatâs enough to make him smile. Sometimes you text first, at either ungodly hours in the middle of the night or during the day, if youâre bored at work. He doesnât know what your job is, you donât know precisely what Suna does either because, again, anonymity. The only detail heâs familiar with is that youâre often around âwearing but rewarding humansâ, as youâd once put it. The one thing you know about him is that heâs an athlete, something you had briefly teased him for.
When heâs not talking to you, when parts or even the entirety of days that used to belong to him and his routine alone are devoid of your messages, Suna finds himself thinking. Or rather, imagining. Thereâs a lot he doesnât know and he refuses to overwhelm you with questions, therefore his mind desperately tries to fill in the gaps to no avail. Are you spending the evening reading a book, watching a tv show? Did you cook dinner or order takeout? How happy are you that itâs been raining for three days straight on a scale of âI can only function if itâs sunny and brightâ to âleave me in a storm and watch me flourishâ ?
Most times, Suna simply plugs the charging cable into is phone, switches off the bedside light and hopes to wake up to one of your texts. They seem to be making an increasingly dangerous difference between a good day and a bad one. Heâs not entirely sure itâs ideal.
Unfinishedusernam
-> The humans are testing me today. Whatever youâre doing, I hope youâre having fun!
-> Ah, look what my mom baked yesterday. Told her I have a friend whoâd love these :)
-> [IMG_65209]
Rintaro, elbows resting on his knees and towel haphazardly thrown around the neck, smiles at the screen. God, he hasnât had a blueberry muffin in over a month, but what heâs really focusing on is that youâve mentioned him. To your mom. Thereâs a low, static buzz in his ears now, punctuated by the thumps of his heart growing louder. It makes you feel more real, it also makes something simmer in his stomach.
crysnoopy
-> Iâm at training.
-> They look really good. Send me one immediately. How was family dinner?
Heâs enabled auto-capitalization for the first time in his life, for godâs sake. The Inarizaki groupchat was so disturbed Atsumu decided to apply the same additional authenticator method used by his online banking and forced Suna to reply to a secret question. One only the real Suna would know the answer to.
He successfully demonstrated the needed personal knowledge concerning the color of Aranâs lucky underwear in high school and thus confirmed his identity.
Unfinishedusernam
-> It was nice! I love spending time with them
-> Howâs training?
Rintaro finds himself wanting to give his identity shape too. Itâs the first time heâs seen your hand, holding that tupperware underneath the dim light of your momâs kitchen. He wants to feel more real for you, too.
He snaps a picture of his hand holding a half-empty water bottle, careful to hide his shoes. Not that youâd be able to immediately tell he plays volleyball from those, but just in case. You do get to see part of his legs though, shorts and their very recognizable colors kept out of frame.
crysnoopy
-> [IMG_65209]
-> Almost done, very tired
He watches as the little hand scribbles, then stops. It resumes the writing, then stops once more. His leg is bouncing again, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He straight up jumps when, suddenly, someone loudly falls on the empty spot next to him and the bench creaks.
âWeâre on a roll today, my blocks are almost as good as yoursâ, Washio grins, temples shining with sweat. He briefly glances down at the phone Suna almost drops when it vibrates against his palm.
âYou okay?â.
âYesâ, Rintaro clears his throat, makes a show of shoving the phone right back into his bag, âyouâre in shape today. Motoya tooâ.
âReady for Osaka!â, Komori fist-bumps Tatsuki right before sitting next to him with an exaggerated groan, âhey, is your friend still in town? The Miya twin. We could go out tonight, get some drinksâ.
âWe literally leave in three daysâ, Sunaâs fist lightly lands on his teammateâs head.
âMocktailsâ, Motoya sticks his tongue out.
âI feel like I already see your faces enough. And Iâm about to see them even moreâ.
âRintaro donât be a grumpy asshole, challenge once again failedâ, Tatsuki rolls his eyes, âyouâre always glued to that damn phone when youâre not playinâ. Letâs go out, have fun, possibly get laid?â.
Suna sighs heavily. âFine. I wanted to visit Samuâs new shop anyway, we can have dinner and take him with us afterwardsâ. He should get Osamu a gift, a nice plant or a maneki-neko. Heâll stop by a few shops on the way home, he decides.
âNow youâre talking!â, Washio smacks his shoulder with way too much energy, âletâs ask Nagito too, heâs gonna love some free onigiri!â.
âHey, weâre payinâ for thoseâ.
âSure we are!â.
âIâm serious, you assââ
âThatâs enough gossiping, boys. Get back to work!â, by muscle memory, their legs react to coachâs boisterous voice and all three men jump up from their seats. Suna spends the rest of the late afternoon training thinking about the text message hidden in his gym bag.
Itâs way past 6PM when training ends, the last half an hour was spent studying opponent videos and then simulating different match scenarios. Sunaâs brain feels fried and on any other day heâd be so ready to get a massage, eat a well-balanced dinner and melt on his couch in front of a good tv show until his eyelids would grow heavy.
Instead, he takes the long way home, legs heavy as he explores different shops in search for the perfect gift. He settles for a very beautiful, handmade, porcelain maneki-neko, left paw raised instead of the right one because Suna knows Osamu will always care about having more customers who trust his restaurant rather than having more money.
The shop owner puts the gift in an elegant box and seals the bag with a delicate ribbon, he thanks the old lady with a deep bow and despite his limbs feeling heavy with fatigue, as he breathes in the cool air of the evening, Suna is content. He thinks of the message sitting pretty in his pocket as he heads home.
Unfinishedusernam
-> You have really nice hands
He didnât open it, not yet. Itâs reassuring to have the notification sitting there, untouched and polished against his lockscreen.
It shouldnât matter that a stranger on an app is complimenting his hands, it really shouldnât. Then why does it, somehow? Suna is happy you find his hands nice, which feels like a recipe for disaster. As he walks past his favorite bakery, he remembers you mentioning how you enjoy grabbing croissants for breakfast at times. When he told you that he was about to leave for a retreat with his team, after asking if their destination was one among Tokyo, Osaka and Yokohama, you proceeded to list all your favorite cafes, bakeries and restaurants for each of them. Just in case he had the time and wanted to check them out. As much as he tries to keep his distance, something as trivial as mentioning the correct city possibly resulting too risky, you always seem to go out of your way to reach closer. Taking the time to prepare three separate lists of suggestions while simultaneously respecting his boundaries is an effort he deems⊠unexpected. It feels weird in the best way. He almost wants to tell you itâs Osaka after all, give you something real, something new to hold on to. Maybe heâll even tell you itâs volleyball.
âComing home from another bad date?â, the unexpected quip startles Suna as he looks up from the sidewalk to find his not so friendly neighbor directing a saccharine smile at him, trash bags in hand. Not too long ago, he wouldâve asked if she needed help with those.
âAt least I still go on datesâ, he purposefully eyes her attire, hoodie and sweatpants. Suna knows sheâs just trying to annoy him, she can see the gym bag.
âWith women who are blind, deaf, mute and desperate?â, she offers a sly smile and he rolls his eyes.
âThatâs not a very flattering description of yourself, nowâ.
She huffs out a sarcastic laugh but Suna can see right through it: the irritation and the embarrassment.
âAlways a pleasure running into you, Sunaâ.
âLikewiseâ, he smirks, âcareful with those bagsâ.
Suna says goodbye with an unbothered wave of the hand despite her giving him the finger, positively happy that for a good while the chances of running into his neighbor will be reduced to zero. Osaka canât come fast enough.
The thing is, he was surprised she lived so close when they first started chatting on a regular dating app. When Suna confirmed they were essentially in the same neighborhood, she was the one to propose a dinner right away.
Truthfully, it had been a bad day for him, for a number of reasons. Training was terrible, he was worried sick about his little sisterâs sprained ankle, his own tendinitis was giving him hell and Atsumu had decided to call him to talk his ear off for an entire hour about the surprise party they were supposed to throw for Kitaâs birthday. Yet, he didnât feel like bailing on his date, so he forced himself out of the house with the worst mood.
Dinner was terrible. Awkward, tense, her growing increasingly impatient about his lack of responsiveness, him snapping at the tiniest, dumbest inputs. The entire night ended up being such a disaster she left halfway through her creamy salmon pasta, a few banknotes tucked underneath a glass of water, enough to pay half the bill. He remembers deflating in his seat, feeling terrible for five minutes, finishing his own dinner and then leaving as if nothing happened.
Suna thought about texting, maybe even apologizing, but he just never found it in himself to actually do it. It was just a bad date, bad dates happen. Heâd never seen her before, or maybe simply didnât pay enough attention to notice her presence, so there was no way he couldâve anticipated just how fucking often heâd run into her from that day onwards. She never failed to remind him of her resentment and, frankly, that ended up igniting his.
Of course Osamuâs leftovers are on his kitchen counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. He remembers how hungry heâd feel after training, so when he knows Sunaâs going to be busy until the late afternoon, he always makes sure to cook an extra portion.
Rintaro lets the gym bag fall onto the floor, right next to the couch he drops on with a groan. Heâs already showered, he simply needs to change clothes and head out once more. When he checks the latest messages, his brows furrow in confusion.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Still at training?
Unfinishedusernam
-> Fuck, sorry, that was probably weird. Â
Unfinishedusernam
-> I really didnât mean to sound like a creep
Suna really, actually smiles at his screen. Youâre insecure about complimenting him, which is sweet. He shouldâve complimented you first.
crysnoopy
-> Just got home
-> You didnât sound like a creep, I like your hands too :)
His heartbeat picks up in pace when the hand starts scribbling shortly after, indicating that youâre online and were probably waiting for his reply.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Ugh, see? Now you feel like youâre forced to compliment me
crysnoopy
-> No I donât?
Unfinishedusernam
-> Liar. Here, if youâre sincere, compliment these.
-> [IMG_98279]
A laugh bubbles from his throat when he opens the picture of your feet in a pair of fuzzy fox slippers.
crysnoopy
-> Theyâre beautiful. Iâd kill to have an identical pair
-> So you have nice hands and cool slippers, good to know.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Youâre a flirt in your everyday life, arenât you?
Once again, Suna hesitates. He is, clearly he is. In all likelihood, if he knew you in real life, he would be. Youâre nice, intelligent, funny, someone he can easily see himself being interested in. But itâs not what he downloaded the app for, he shouldnât wander in flirty territory, he really shouldnât.
crysnoopy
-> Only if they own a pretty set of slippers
When has he ever been good at following judicious advice?
Unfinishedusernam
-> Knew it. Flirt.
-> Can I ask you something?
crysnoopy
-> Ask away
Unfinishedusernam
-> Why are you on this app?
He sighs. Flirty territory is easier than honesty territory. A quick glance at the clock on his kitchen wall instills a sense of urgency as he types a reply, as raw and sincere as it gets.
crysnoopy
-> I wanted to find out if I could open up to strangers more than I do with people I actually know
He really fucking hopes Osamu is proud. Let it be known that heâs trying.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Do you think you could open up to me?
Suna exhales from his nose. This is definitely not the type of conversation he wanted to have while on a rush.
crysnoopy
-> Maybe
-> Iâd like that.
He waits for a few seconds, chat gone silent. Maybe you logged off, maybe you donât know how to reply, either way Suna feels a weight lifting from his chest. Itâs true, he thinks he might have a deeper conversation with you of all people. A faceless someone who sends him pictures of stray cats and nice sunsets, who makes him smile at silly jokes. He shortly wonders if youâd like to open up to him in the same way, if being vulnerable will ever be on the table. For now, heâs okay with simply letting you know.
Osaka ends up being extra motivating.
The EJP Raijin players have been training hard, religiously respecting their schedules: thereâs no time for slacking off, days punctuated by a disciplined sleep routine, physical and tactical training, cool-down exercises, refuelling afternoons and evenings spent cross-training. The synergy within the team is off the charts, they have won every single practice match played so far and the excitement is palpable as the game with the Black Jackals approaches.
Their training sessions are usually shorter. Atsumu insists itâs because theyâre in better shape, Sunaâs almost punched him in the face over dinner.
When heâs not too exhausted, against all odds, he enjoys spending some time with old friends and acquaintances. He knows itâs going to be a difficult game, Sakusa is a pain in the ass to block and Inunaki, their libero, is very talented. But he thinks heâs ready.
As they stroll through the city when their free days or breaks coincide, Suna is sometimes hit with pangs of a sentiment not entirely foreign. Nostalgia, regret? He can never tell for certain. He misses having his friends around, being in the same place at all times, travelling less. As he thinks of Osamu currently being the only occupant of his large, painfully empty apartment, while he shares a portion of takoyaki with an ever annoyingly loud Atsumu, when he listens to Bokuto enthusiastically detail his relationship with Keiji, he thinks heâs missing out on too many things and heâs past feeling unperturbed about it.
âShoyo says heâs very happy in Brazil, asked us to visit soon. Ya should comeâ, Atsumu lightly bumps Sunaâs shoulder with his as they walk by the river, in search of a good viewing spot. The colorful procession carrying portable shrines is quickly filling up the boats to be paraded up and down the Okawa river. While itâs still early for fireworks, oh and bunraku performances are about to begin on different stage boats, and the air is filled with fragrances coming from the endless rows of festival food stalls. What an unexpected fortune, to be in town for the Tenjin Matsuri.
âNot gonna crash on your friendâs couchâ, Sunaâs peremptory tone makes Atsumu roll his eyes.
âWhy are you being so pissy today? Whatâs up, scared youâre gonna lose?â.
Rintaro searches for something in his friendâs annoyingly familiar, limpid gaze as Bokuto snickers next to him. He finds his own affection, honed by years of joint quarrels, reflected in it.
âRin?â, Atsumuâs worried now, head slightly tilted to the side. Suna offers a tiny smile.
âDo you ever miss Hyogo?â.
âNoâ, the answer comes quick, âI miss my family, I miss my friends. Yer ugly face especially. Places are just placesâ, he shrugs and Suna feels his shoulders relax.
âWeâre lucky, we still get to catch upâ, Bokuto smiles, âitâs okay to feel sad sometimes thoughâ.
âIâm not sadâ, Suna grimaces, âtâwas just a question. Shut upâ.
âAw, donât be shy! Keiji always says owning how we really feel is importantâ, Bokuto offers him one of his dangos and he begrudgingly takes it.
âI feel like⊠you should shut upâ, he gruffs out. Atsumu snickers at that and Bokuto pouts. Suna doesnât pay attention to any of them, too preoccupied with taking a decent picture of the boats. He wonders if heâll be able to make the fireworks look as pretty as theyâre in real life, to show them to you.
He doesnât care that youâll know where he is, it isnât but a small part of himself he wishes to unravel for you. Itâs what you two have been doing, no? Occasionally sending each other messages that go beyond jokes and memes. You now know he has twins as friends, just how much he loves his little sister, his favorite dish. Suna knows you live close to your family and visit them as often as possible, that you always bring a can of tuna in your bag should you come across stray cats on the way to work. He knows youâre scared of the dark and canât look at blood without feeling dizzy. Youâre trusting, extremely indecisive, a fierce procrastinator, you spend too much time on tiktok and are scared to death youâre not going to be able to keep those who are important to you in your life, forever. Suna gets it, really.
He hasnât been able to say much, you opened up to him as if it was nothing and he still canât bring himself to share much more than comforting words and feeble details. Who cares if he likes yakisoba? He hates how detached he feels from everyone else. He feels lonely. He wishes he still lived in the same town as his friends. Sometimes he goes to sleep with the tv left on, to simulate someone elseâs presence in a cold, empty apartment. He misses his family, like, all the time. The thought of getting on a plane paralizes him. He doesnât think heâs good enough at volleyball, his team may lose and it would be his fault. He doesnât think heâs good enough.
âTaking cute pics for your mystery girl?â, Atsumu grins widely. Suna keeps a composed facade, calmly snaps a few additional shots, but internally heâs screaming. Itâs his fault for expecting a twin to keep a secret, really.
âHow dâyou know theyâre not for my instagram?â.
âYou havenât updated your feed in a yearâ, Bokuto points at his phone screen, sunarin profile open to prove a point. Rintaro almost snatches it from his hand to throw it into the river below.
âSheâs not my girlâ, he grumbles instead, âjust a random person I talk to. It was Osamuâs ideaâ.
âIt was a good idea. Iâve been trying to get Kiyoomi on that app too, youâre both so closed offâ.
On any other occasion, Suna wouldâve denied that and retorted with an abrasive remark. Not this time, though.
âYeah. Trying to improve thereâ, he huffs, to which Atsumuâs ready-to-take-the-piss expression softens.
âRight. So how is she? Canât remember the last time you texted with a stranger for more than a week before they were either ghosted or became your girlfriendâ.
âSheâs okay. I donât know muchâ.
âEveryone on Matchpal is anonymousâ, Kotaro fills in Atsumuâs knowledge gaps.
âShe has to be more than okay if youâve been talking for over a monthâ, the older Miya insists, prodding mercilessly at Sunaâs discretion.
âSheâs funnyâ, he finally concedes, âand smart. Makes opening up to a stranger look too easyâ.
âSmart? Okay, ya definitely wouldnât be her type thenâ, part of the tightness in Sunaâs chest dissipates as his fist collides with Atsumuâs arm.
âI think thatâs the point, though. You donât know each other and will never meet, so you can admit things you wouldnât normally mention. Be vulnerableâ, Bokuto finishes his dangos and crumples up the small disposable cardboard box they came with.
âYes but at this point she doesnât really feel like a stranger anymoreâ, Suna pauses after saying that out loud, surprised by his own words. When has he stopped considering you a faceless someone on a random app, exactly? He realizes heâs given you a voice in his head. A smile he imagines reacting to his lame jokes, when he deflects tentative personal questions. Heâs given you a routine, shared most of his. You donât feel like a stranger anymore but youâre not exactly a friend. What are you, then?
âUh-ohâ, it takes a moment to realize that the teasing sound comes from Bokuto. Crap.
âAnd we could meetâ, Suna pushes, âShizuoka is not that bigâ.
âSheâs from Shizuoka? Christâ, Atsumu lets out a low whistle, âdoes she know you live in the same city?â.
âShe never askedâ, if the justification sounds odd, his friends are kind enough not to point it out. He doubts Osamu would be as lenient. Truth is, he didnât ask either: after some time, you had just randomly disclosed the information, probably because you perceived him as a very discrete person. Which, for the record, he is.
âIâm going to ask you this question just once. Do ya like this girl?â.
âNoâ, obviously not, âI donât even know herâ.
âOh? But you just said she doesnât feel like a stranger?â, Bokutoâs eyebrows shoot up.
Suna sighs. His limbs feel heavy but itâs a different feeling than the one he gets after practice, more draining.
âHeâll figure it outâ, the weight of Atsumuâs hand on his shoulder feels weirdly comforting.
I donât know what she feels like, Suna wants to say. He settles for saying nothing, as the hold on his shoulder grows tighter for a split second.
Coach is going to have an earful ready for Motoya if he doesnât show up on time at practice, in the morning. Heâs still out celebrating-drinking with other teammates, their first Tenjin Matsuri an excuse good enough to be late. Suna doesnât mind having the hotel room to himself for the evening, a welcome novelty: he just hopes he wonât have to drag his friend out of bed the following day.
His hair is still wet, the bed way too comfortable to consider getting dressed. You, a distraction that fills his stomach with fuzzy warmth, something that for a second makes him forget why his phone has been exploding with notifications.
Itâs that stupid instagram post he decided to share after a year of semi hiatus, online presence proven only by the occasional story heâd upload. Suna feels particularly caught in his feelings today, so why not post the selfie Atsumu took by the river? His comment is pinned at the top of the section, with over 8k likes.
miyatsumu brothers â€ïž
Bokuto left a heart too, Samu and Kita some of their usual simple but genuine comments. Love you guys. Miss you :). Itâs easy for them, a skill he wants to master as well. Itâs not enough for the people in his life to simply know that he loves them, Suna wants tell them more.
He takes a look at other comments, smiling faces with heart-eyes emojis and inappropriate compliments from strangers that make him laugh. He shortly wonders what your instagram looks like. Filled with pictures of you with your friends and family, no doubt. A feed that showcases your favorite food and places, creative outfits, witty captions and sometimes no captions at all. Itâd fit you.
His phone pings again.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Osaka!!!!
-> Fuck Iâm so jealous, I never got to see the festival :( did you have fun?
crysnoopy
-> I did. Some old friends are in town too, weâre playing against each other soon
Unfinishedusernam
-> Your friends are also athletes???
-> Now I feel bad, this is literally how Iâm spending the evening
-> [IMG_62371]
Suna smiles upon opening the picture. Youâre sitting on your couch and the hand not holding the phone is doing a V sign, a lidded tray balanced on your legs, tv channel set on a show heâs never been interested in. The lights are dim, the room doesnât seem too big but it feels so cozy. The way a home should feel. He sees a coffee table and some lit candles by the tv unit.
crysnoopy
-> Looks like a perfect evening to me
Unfinishedusernam
-> I only walked 200 steps today.
crysnoopy
-> Iâm like trying really hard to find something nice to say
-> Every morning is an opportunity to create a masterpiece called life?
-> Stop surviving, start thriving?
Unfinishedusernam
-> Fuck you for making me laugh, I almost dropped my dinner
He laughs as well, out loud, then double taps your message to like it so that you know heâs still acknowledging it, despite something more urgent suddenly prompting the quick movement of his fingers.
crysnoopy
-> Hey, remember when we talked about how youâre really scared of losing the people you love?
Suna can almost sense your surprise, itâs evident in the way the little scribbling hand appears and disappears repeatedly as you probably try to think of something appropriate to say.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Yeah?
crysnoopy
-> I feel that too
-> Most days I wake up thinking Iâm a bad person
Another pause. This must be the most exposed heâs ever felt and Suna is grateful your replies are not as fast as they usually are because his hands are suddenly cold, palms clammy and disgusting.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Why do you think that?
crysnoopy
-> I donât do enough to show how I feel and one day that could make them leave
-> Maybe stability isnât for me and that scares me
-> I get bored easily, I don't want to commit. What if whatâs regular, easy for everyone else will never be my thing?
Well, thatâs a whole lot of fucking baggage he just dropped on you. His first instinct is to apologize, to ask you to just forget it, deflect with some joke about having had too much to drink and being in his feels. But he doesnât do that. Why? What makes him want to trust you with all that? Perhaps itâs just curiosity, wanting to find out what a complete stranger would think of the thoughts that eat him alive at night. Maybe heâs hoping for some miraculous solution offered on a silver plate. Or he just wants to check if heâs able to even do the whole being vulnerable thing in the first place.
Your response comes after a couple minutes and Suna doesnât remember the last time he felt so nervous.
Unfinishedusernam
-> How did you meet your current friends?
He furrows his brows.
crysnoopy
-> Most of them I met in school
Unfinishedusernam
-> So they made the conscious decision of being your friends every single day, all this time
-> Btw getting bored easily is okay. A bad person wouldnât be asking those questions about himself :)
-> You can always work on what you want to improve
crysnoopy
-> You make it sound too easy
Unfinishedusernam
-> Sometimes it really is tho
-> Youâre not too late, you know. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your family that you miss them
Unfinishedusernam
-> It doesnât have to be easy right away
-> You get to make your own regular. Create your new normal
Suna exhales, reads your messages over and over again. Itâs oddly comforting realizing that he is, in fact, not too late yet. Why does he always think that he is?
His phone pings again.
Unfinishedusernam
-> I think youâll find a person youâll want to commit to
-> Thatâs what I tell myself after all my failed dates anyway lol
-> Remember, be the change that you wish to see on tinder
Suna snorts, heart lighter in the hotel room he sits alone in. He could get drunk on the relief suddenly filling his chest, it feels like the touch of a cool hand over a feverish forehead.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Still there?
crysnoopy
-> Iâm here
How could he not be?
crysnoopy
-> Thank you
Unfinishedusernam
-> Howâs opening up to a stranger feel? :)
Good, if the stranger is you. Apparently.
crysnoopy
-> Mysteriously comforting
-> How are you failing those dates? Do I have to beat anyone up?
Unfinishedusernam
-> Nah
-> It just seems the guys Iâm into are never into me
crysnoopy
-> That sucks for them
It really, truly, actually does. He doesnât remember the last time he felt as comfortable sharing something so personal over text, itâs all so natural Suna is convinced heâd be able to do that in person as well. How would it feel to meet you? Would the magic wear out, is this so easy only because an anonymous profile on a silly app?
Sure, Suna doesnât know your name or what you look like, but that doesnât make you a stranger. He knows you enough for the words to almost spill out of his hands, words that press threateningly against the pads of his fingers.
Heâd be into you. Heâd date you. Thatâs what he wants to say: thereâs no need to know how you look or the name printed on some documents, he knows enough. Itâs a weird feeling that scares him and clouds his mind for a brief moment, as he waits for your reply.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Thatâs sweet of you to say!
-> Last time I went out with a guy I really liked it was a disaster
-> He also lived pretty close to me, thank god he moved now
crysnoopy
-> Well, jokeâs on him. Heâs missing out big time
Unfinishedusernam
-> Stop being cute, Iâll fall for you
Suna takes a sharp breath. Reading the words does something funny to his stomach, something Atsumu would tease him for.
Shit, Atsumu. The game is so close. Whenâs the last time volleyball disappeared from his brain like that, with the snap of invisible fingers? Can he afford being this distracted?
Unfinishedusernam
-> This dinner fucking slaps btw
-> They opened a new place in my city, add that to the list of spots you have to visit if you swing by shizuoka
-> Itâs called onigiri miya
Suna chokes on his own spit so badly he thinks heâs gonna die as he abruptly sits up, coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes. He stares at his screen in disbelief, sudden reminder of how tangible and close you actually are burning like a slap in the face.
Samu picks up after a few rings, itâs late enough for him to be either still in the shop or getting out of the shower.
âHey, whatâs up? Saw your pic with that scrubââ
âDid a girl come to the shop today?â, the question is uttered with so much urgency the line goes silent for a few seconds.
âMy day was great, thanks for asking! Iâm okay, eating dinner on your couch right nowâ, the fake singsong tone makes him roll his eyes.
âIâm sorry, this is an emergency. She just told me she was at your shop todayâ.
âReally? Did she like it?â.
âOsamuâ.
He chuckles lightly.
âOkay. First, please tell me why we care so much that she came to the shop today?â.
Suna loves his friend, he really does. Sometimes he wishes he was close enough to be punched in the face. âStop being a dickâ.
âFine. A girl did come to the shop todayâ, Sunaâs heart almost stops, â⊠along with a million othersâ, he deflates against the pillow once again, defeated. He knows itâs something he really shouldnât do but he still sends the picture to Osamu, slightly cropped to leave out everything thatâs not useful to the investigation. The two things his friend gets to see are your dinner and a V sign.
Thereâs a pause, one Rintaro swears is filled by the loud pounding of his restless heart.
âI know who she isâ, Osamu speaks quietly, in a tone that leaves no room for sarcasm.
âWhat?â, Sunaâs voice comes out thin, incredulous.
âI remember her. Came in as I was about to close the shop, bowed and begged for whatever leftovers I mightâve had. She looked like she had a horrible day, so I justâŠâ.
âPut something together for herâ, as you always do.
âYeah! I usually donât use those trays but I didnât have any of the regular ones leftâ.
âWell, how is she?â, Suna cringes at the impatience vibrating in his voice, it makes him sound desperate. Osamu hums, itâs a voluntarily prolonged sound that makes him scoff.
âSheâs really sweet. Apologized a million times, left a generous tip. I think youâd like herâ.
âYeah?â.
âYeah, Rinâ, heâs smiling, âI also think you should tell herâ.
âTell her what?â.
âThat you want to meet her, dumbassâ.
Suna runs a hand through his now dried hair, lightly ruffles it. This feels dangerously real now, something he could grasp if he so much as decided to hold out a hand. Youâre so close. Thereâs something else simmering underneath the fear and Rintaro recognizes it easily. Itâs an almost forgotten eagerness that heâs not entirely stranger to.
âSamuâ.
âHmm?â, heâs smiling again. The asshole.
âI think I like herâ.
âNo shitâ, Osamu full on laughs now, jovial and relieved. Despite the annoyance, Suna feels the exact same way.
Shizuoka seemed different upon his return, an endless pool of possibilities where something would inevitably remind Suna of you. Heâd made peace with the fact that he had a crush on someone heâs never met and with that truth also came an endless list of associations his brain couldnât help but make.
Texting you first, whenever he wanted, became natural. Whatâs more, it was almost as if you were encouraged by his newly loosened state, that one evening in Osaka opening the floodgates of something else, something different. You trusted him with your most intimate thoughts and so did he. There was no more wondering if you were bothering each other or texting at an unconvenient time. Youâd once told him you felt self-conscious about that specifically.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Sometimes I feel like Iâm too much
-> Would you tell me if I was too much?
crysnoopy
-> What do you mean?
Unfinishedusernam
-> You know, if I was pestering you
crysnoopy
-> Youâre not too much
-> And even if you were, I could handle you :)
You were the happiest when he had told you theyâd won the game in Osaka. Heck, you baked blueberry muffins (âto celebrate!â) and asked him to go get himself one so you could pretend he was there to eat yours. And Suna did: he got up from his bed, grabbed a jacket, put on some running shoes and made his way to his favorite bakery with a dopey smile on his face. He then suggested a toast and, what a coincidence, you happened to have a bottle of white wine left unopened for the longest time. The occasion seemed worthy.
And so you both ate and drank and celebrated until his cheeks felt hot and your texts started lacking proper grammar. Suna remembers how it felt, slumped on his couch, lights low and mind dizzy as his eyes blinked and blinked and then blinked again while the message sat on his screen, black against white. He just stared at it, not entirely able to discern reality from fictitious.
Unfinishedusernam
-> I wish you were here
-> Iâd probly just kiss you
Suna remembers staring at his screen as a wild joy exploded in his heart and took over his entire chest, scorching and vibrant like festival fireworks. He stared at it for so long he still doesnât quite recall if he wrote the reply or if the reply wrote itself, because the only other solid memory in relation to that moment is drifting off with an empty bottle of wine precariously balanced on his lap.
He woke up the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth, a throbbing headache and sore neck. His phone had fallen to the floor and when he picked it up, it was with a heavy heart that he noticed you hadnât replied.
crysnoopy
-> I want nothing more
-> Iâm from shizuoka too. letâs make it happen?
It wasnât unusual for one of you to leave the other on read and it wasnât like Suna to hyperfixate on not receiving a reply but this time, for some reason, it felt different.
As he got up with a groan and shuffled to his bathroom to take a shower, a strange feeling of dread strangled his body from the inside, his mind running a million miles a minute. Were you disgusted? Mad, that he had kept his location a secret? That wouldâve been unfair, though, and you had always proved to respect his boundaries. Maybe it was all a joke, then. You thought of all that flirting as nothing short of a game, something stupid to pass the time with a stranger online. Something that wasnât real. Worse, something youâd never want to be real, especially if given the chance to make that happen. Fuck.
Suna succeeded in keeping himself fairly busy for a few hours that day: he cleaned his whole apartment, did some meal prep, called his mom, called his sister, even called Atsumu. Your silence kept throbbing at the edges of each minute, it became so unbearable he ended up sending you a picture of an aspirin package with a funny caption, to test the waters.
You never replied. Not that day, not the following day, a week later your chat is still painfully empty. Or rather, filled with all the messages heâs sent before giving up.
crysnoopy
-> Killer headache town, population: me
crysnoopy
-> How are you feeling?
crysnoopy
-> Hey, everything ok?
crysnoopy
-> Iâm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.
-> I was really tipsy, I didnât mean it
crysnoopy
-> Or at least I didnât mean to sound so pushy.
-> Iâd never pressure you into doing anything, let alone meet me
crysnoopy
-> Iâll give you space if you need it, can you just please tell me that youâre okay? Itâs been three days
crysnoopy
-> Okay. Iâll be here if you ever come back.
Heâs so mad at you. Werenât you the first one coming forward with all that stuff about wanting to kiss him? Why would you disappear? Heâs apologized, what else can he do? Was it all seriously worth so little to you?
Suna feels as if the days are longer now, training unbearable. Instead of keeping his mind occupied, all it does is remind him of how badly his blocks suck lately. He doesnât pick up when Osamu calls, heâd read everything thereâs to read in his seemingly inexpressive tone. Heâs mad at himself, for not noticing how stupidly attached heâd become. Is it normal to miss you so badly? He doesnât remember the last time he missed someone just as much. The world is cruel in relentlessly reminding him of you: an advert youâd find funny, that movie youâd recently discussed making a comeback in cinemas, sunsets painting the sky in orange and lilacs so similar to the ones youâd send him, a pair of fuzzy fox slippers on display in a shop window on the way to the gym.
The toxic part of his brain is ruthless in reminding him that this is why he refuses to open up to new people. That this is why he never lets himself be actually vulnerable and simply plays along: itâs because heâd be left with nothing but mockery, humiliation and loneliness.
But Rintaro doesnât want to give that part of his brain any more solidity. What he wants, is to be proud of himself. Relieved, even. He wants to feel happy for having been brave enough to take a risk, to trust, to open up. He wants to relish in the joy that the brief encounter with you, anonymous and all, gave him. So what if you never come back or talk to him again? Thatâs on you. Heâll miss you for a good while, will probably always wonder what youâre up to from time to time, but heâll be okay. You gave him much more than what youâre probably aware of and truth is, heâs grateful. He just hopes youâll always be okay too, he hopes life will treat you well. He hopes you donât regret trusting him with your most intimate thoughts, ever.
Itâs not like he doesnât reread some of your messages, to keep himself company. The most recent ones still have the not entirely pleasant effect of twisting his insides. Heâll have to delete that folder of screenshots eventually.
Unfinishedusernam
-> Iâm so glad I stumbled over you on this stupid app btw
Unfinishedusernam
-> Youâre sweet, snoopy :)
Unfinishedusernam
-> Today was shit
-> Sometimes I think about how itâd be to have you here, at the end of shitty days
Unfinishedusernam
-> Stop flirting with me, itâs working
Unfinishedusernam
-> I feel so slilly
-> can you evne like someone you nevee met?
Turns out, you really can. He just never fully got around to telling you properly.
And then, one day, Sunaâs blocks donât suck anymore. In fact, theyâre just as good as theyâve always been. He speaks with Osamu on the phone, a little bummed that his friend doesnât have another trip to Shizuoka planned anytime soon: the shop is doing great, his presence is no longer required as often.
âIâll miss youâ, Rintaro still remembers the stunned silence following his words, âcome back soon, shop or notâ.
The younger Miya twin paused his ministrations, hands sticky with rice, and offered a surprised chuckle, âIâll be back. Ya can also take a train every now and then, ya know?â.
âMaybe I will. Hey, next time you plan a trip to Osaka, can I come too?â.
âHell yeah. I wouldnât have to endure that dickhead aloneâ.
He talks to Kita and Aran way more these days: when he thinks of one of his friends, he simply grabs the phone and reaches out with a text, a meme or a funny reel. It seems to make them happy.
When his mom tells him that Kaori has been relentlessly asking about visiting her older brother, Suna assures her that he isnât too busy to accomodate her for a week or for however long she wants to stay. Even if he was, heâd make it work. His mom clicks her tongue, gives her approval for a weekend only, less her daughter falls behind her homework even more. He grins when he hears Kaori scream MAKE IT TWO WEEKENDS in the distance.
Suna hasnât seen his little sister in months and despite their relationship being exhaustingly conflictual (they are way too similar to each other and she gets a kick out of pissing him off), he loves her deeply and she trusts him just as much. Sometimes being home without him can become a lot and itâs not like she ever directly admits it but heâs pretty sure Kaori misses him, the little gremlin.
He was already 14 when she was born and little Rintaro had faced the news of a new addition to the family (a female, no less!) with infinite crankiness. He huffed and puffed and complained about having to share a room and a bathroom throughout his momâs entire pregnancy, then a pink little bundle of dark hair and eardrum demolishing shrieks held his pointer finger in her tiny fist for the first time and he swore to guard her with his life, forever.
Suna wakes up extra early to clean the bathroom and his room, which heâs going to give to his sister, and make it girl-appropriate. He always goes on a tiny shopping spree before she visits: kitchen cabinets are now filled with her favorite snacks, thereâs a colorful set of strawberry handcream, lotion and lip balm on his nightstand, a sweatsuit set neatly folded on his bed, the expensive vanilla body scrub their mom wouldnât get her sits pretty in the shower.
He texts her before heading out for practice, demands she keeps him updated about her position. Kaori send a thumbs up and the picture of the blurred view outside the train window.
Unfortunately, as it often happens, coach announces the team is required to stay longer than he had anticipated and Suna doesnât dare explain that heâs actually in a terrible rush because Motoya has been playing like shit and, of course, that becomes everyoneâs problem.
âGet it together, manâ, he hisses, way less patient than usual. Komori pouts.
âIâm tryingâ.
âTry harder!â, Washio snickers from the other side of the court.
Itâs not until an hour later that Suna can dash through the gym doors, already forty minutes late to the appointment his sister had agreed on in the morning. When he notified her about the extra training, she didnât falter.
-> No worries, Iâll find the house.
The train station isnât at all far from his apartment, a mere 15-minute walk, but Kaori hasnât visited in a few months and sheâs not exactly known for her acute sense of direction. Sheâd get lost in her own house if it wasnât impossible to achieve that in a small two bedroom apartment.
âWhy is your damn phone going to voicemail?â, Suna grumbles to himself in the middle of the street, torn between running to the station or straight home. Itâs not dark yet but the sun has set and Kaori knows very well the one thing sheâs never allowed to do is turn her phone off, especially if him or their mom are not aware of where she is.
Right as he decides to head to the train station first, he hears her voice. Thereâs someone taller with her, which makes the hairs behind his neck stand up right away.
âKaori!â, he damn nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes towards his sister in the opposite direction, gym bag almost falling off his shoulder while she chats with god knows who without a care in the world.
âRinâ, she stops right in her tracks, âsorry, kinda got losââ
âWhy the hell is your phone turned off?â, as if to underline his point, he impatiently taps on his phone screen a few times, another call interrupted by immediately going straight to voicemail. He only now realizes how breathless he sounds.
âBattery died, I forgot my charger at homeâ, Kaori juts her bottom lip out. Sheâs the spitting image of her brother. âI was lucky to meet your friend right outside the stationâ, she looks up and so does he, features morphing into a horrified expression. Out of all people.
âYou⊠what?â, Suna doesnât know what to say. Was his neighbor even capable of smiling like that?
âIt was nothing! We had fun, didnât we?â.
Kaori nods. âWe fed some stray cats on the way here. Itâs so weird that you had canned fish in your bag, thoughâ.
âI always carry some! Didnât you see how hungry Mochi was?â.
For the following seconds, Suna is incapable of uttering another word. It becomes weird enough for his neighbor to wave a hand in front of his face, brows furrowed.
âSuna?â.
âYeahâ, he replies on autopilot, âYes. I mean, thank you. Kaori, letâs goâ, he eyes his sisterâs large, pink, glittery backpack. Hanging from his neighborâs shoulder.
âUh, actuallyâ, his sister coughs.
âWhat now?â.
âI kinda need to use the bathroomâ.
âYou can use it at home? Itâs a ten minute walk from here, letâs get goingâ.
âI kinda need to use it nowâ.
âKaoriâ, he sighs, âitâs ten minutesâ.
âI live right hereâ, the woman from his nightmares indicates the house behind her, âwanna make a pit stop?â.
âAbsolutely notâ, Suna clears his throat, âshe can hold itâ.
âShe canâtâ, Kaori shrinks in herself a little, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
âFine, I guess we are making a pit stopâ, he mutters and his sister exhales in relief, grabs his neighbor by the sleeve and urges her to open the door, quick quick quick please.
Suna watches his sister dash upstairs with a snort as he takes her backpack. Itâs heavy as a rock. The hell did she put in there?
âYouâre not gonna catch fire if you come in, you knowâ, his neighbor fixes him with a sarcastic glare as she takes off her shoes, letting her own bag fall to the floor.
âSorry for the troubleâ, he steps in at last, with a low grumble that allows a chuckle to surprise him.
âDonât be too hard on her. She was panicking, I offered my phone but she didnât remember your number. I asked where she was supposed to go and when she mentioned the neighborhood, I inquired about her brotherâs name. Pretty lucky, huh?â, sheâs not looking at him, busy taking off her jacket as well. Sunaâs gaze softens.
âYeah, really lucky. Thank you for taking care of herâ.
âI also have a younger brother, I know what it feels likeâ, she smiles, looking at him at last, âone time we went to a festival without our parents, he thought itâd be funny to play hide and seek without telling me. I think I aged ten years that nightâ.
âShe also used to run away so much as a kid. Itâs in our blood, I was the exact sameâ.
âDoesnât surprise me for some reasonâ.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â.
âIâm done, we can go nowâ, Kaori hops down the stairs, two steps at a time, then glares at her brother. Golden, foxy eyes narrowed. âYouâre not being rude, are you?â.
He rolls his eyes but, before he can reply, someone beats him to it.
âHeâs never rude to me. Weâre friends, remember?â, Suna watches her wink with a smile so warm. Is that really the same person he runs into almost on a daily basis?
Astonished, he witnesses that little, usually quiet, reserved gremlin smile back at his neighbor. Then, remembering how important formalities are in their family, she thanks her with a deep bow. Itâs only then that he notices them: fox slippers. Cute, pointed ears, bushy tales and everything.
They both jump when the steel water bottle hits the parquet flooring, Kaori dramatically clutching her chest. âCan you not be a weirdo for five seconds?â.
His neighbor (could it beâŠ???) furrows her brows in genuine confusion. âI think volleyball finally started affecting his brain. Better take him homeâ.
âYeah. Letâs go, loserâ.
âShut up, be thankful momâs not hereâ, he fires back, fake annoyance to cover the fright that gnomeâs actually caused. Sunaâs heart is racing for an entirely different reason as he takes another furtive look at those slippers while pushing Kaori out the door, mind racing.
He is completely, absolutely unable to focus. Over dinner, he distractedly listens while his sister paints vivid pictures of boring classes, the art course their mom wants her to give a chance to, the latest fight she had with her best friend. He asks questions and fails to register the answers he gets, over and over again. Itâs a relief when Kaori sprints to the bathroom, calling the shots for who gets to shower first. Suna is left rinsing the plates, with a brain that canât think.
Would it be possible? Youâre from Shizuoka. You have those exact slippers. You always feed stray cats. God, the fucking slippers. What are the chances?
He could call Osamu, ask a few questions. Instead, his sisterâs voice keeps chipping away at whatâs left of his sanity.
Your friendâs cool. I wish my teacher was that nice.
A teacher. Could kids be the wearing but rewarding humans you often mentioned?
He goes back to that disastrous dinner, desperately trying to recall how the conversation felt. What did they even text about prior to that evening? Was that woman as charming as you are? Fuck, he doesnât remember a single word exchanged that evening. He just remembers being an asshole.
âIâll be back in ten minutesâ, from her comfortable spot on the couch, Kaori watches her brother march to the front door, then bend down to put on the same shoes he wore a few hours before, âlock the door, donât burn the house downâ.
âWhere are you going?â, her brows are knit in confusion, never in worry.
âNone of your business. Lock the doorâ.
âSure, sure, byeâ.
âRight now, Kaoriâ, something in his weirdly brisk tone makes the fourteen year old pause the show sheâs watching, not without a dragged groan, and get up from underneath the blanket she had stolen from her brotherâs room.
Youâre so ready to go to bed early and declare the day officially concluded.
Work was tough, managing a new classroom of overexcited kids had proven to be particularly difficult. Between the increasing pressure from school administrators and the daunting task of creating engaging lesson plans for the new semester, you felt a heavy weariness threatening to swallow you whole.
As you brush your teeth, tired reflection staring back at you, he worms his way back into your thoughts once more. Saying that hearing his name and then seeing him again was unexpected would be an understatement: you were absolutely convinved (and thankful) he had moved. Where the hell did he disappear for over a month? Just to come back and show up like the annoying, irritating nuisance he is. One you canât seem to whisk away.
Your date was one of the most disappointing nights of your life. Suna, the guy you had talked with for days, the same Suna who was so witty, intelligent and nice, was also just so blatantly uninterested. Bored. He didnât even make the effort to ask about your day, eyes distant whenever you tried to initiate a conversation. And of course, because life hates you, you have to be reminded of that night every single day because you now see him every single day.
Whatâs more, you had failed the one person youâve been able to feel interested in after that big, fat disappointment. Someone who just found himself trapped in the crossfire of your thoughts and stupid, stupid fears. Someone you were selfishly not ready to have so close. Someone wonderful who didnât deserve your self-serving worries.
Youâre already in your pjs when the doorbell rings multiple times, so insistent you almost trip down the stairs as you hurry, terrified that youâre gonna have to face an emergency with pandas printed on your pants.
âWhat the hell?!â, you instinctively step back as he leans forward, his entire weight resting against the doorframe.
âSorry, I know itâs lateâ, Suna takes a deep breath but itâs not really needed. Prior warmup or not, he isnât at all affected by the sprint through which he covered the distance between his house and yours. âI just had to⊠hey, can I come in? Iâm probably gonna have a heart attack if I donât sit downâ.
Youâre staring at him wide-eyed, completely startled.
âYeah? Sure, come in! Is your sister okay? Did something happen?â, youâre quick to push the door closed as he heavily flops on your couch.
âNo, noâŠâ, Suna seems distracted for a moment, eyes scanning the room and zeroing on your tv, which is currently turned off. He stares at it for a while, then lets out a small laugh. âActually, maybe itâs better if I stand upâ.
âSuna, are you on drugs right now?â, the question is serious but his eyes, now fixed on you, donât reveal any particular emotion besides genuine⊠amusement?
âI need to tell you somethingâ.
The odd idea that he might be hiding a knife somewhere underneath that leather jacket crosses your mind for a split second.
âSureâŠ?â.
âWhen my sister was a baby, sheâd cry a lot. I legit thought my ears would explode at some pointâ, he weighs the words carefully as he approaches you and, for some odd reason, you donât take a step back. âSheâd cry so much, all the time. And then, one day, I brought home a snoopy plush I won at the arcade. It became the one thing that would always shut her upâ.
It feels like someoneâs toppled a bucket of ice cold water over your head. Suna is standing so close while looking at you in a way youâve never witnessed, a way so uncommon for him. You canât focus on the desperation in his eyes and youâd never guess the hopefulness simmering behind a gaze that seems to be discovering you for the first time.
âItâs youâ, barely a whisper, but itâs all the confirmation he needs. The relief in Sunaâs exhale is intense as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. Thank god he does, because your knees feel so wobbly.
Itâs a weird sensation, being pressed against him, hanging onto his shoulders for support. Heâs warm and smells so good, of bergamot and musk. Your brain canât quite comprehend that heâs the person youâve been talking to for the past months.
âI missed you. Iâm sorryâ, he confesses in the curve of your neck and the words dissolve underneath the thin fabric of your pjs, slowly sink into your skin and bones. âIâm so sorryâ, he says again, carefully pulls back to look at you, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. Mirth flashes across his features for a moment. âHey, are you about to throw up?â.
âNo, of course not!â, you take a tentative step back but he doesnât trust your stability and keeps a gentle hold on your arms, âwhy are you apologizing? I disappeared. I should be the one⊠I should beâŠâ, Sunaâs gaze softens, one hand rising up to touch your face but then freezing mid-air, deciding against the risk of freaking you out even more.
âPlease donât cryâ.
âWhat?â, you retort, âIâm not crying. Ewâ, but when you touch your cheek, itâs shocking to find it wet. What the fuck.
âOh, god. Sorry, I donât know whatâs wrong with meâ, a dry chuckle bubbles up from your throat, âlisten, thereâs no pressure on you. Iâm sure this is a real disappointment so, like, we can pretend it never happened and just go on with our lives. I wonâtââ
âAre you sure itâs you? The person Iâm looking for is pretty cleverâ, he attempts a smile when you frown, familiar at last. âYou think Iâd leave my sister alone and race all the way here for a real disappointment?â.
âI think you just wanted to corroborateâ.
Suna rolls his eyes, incredulous. âWell, I corroborated. Iâm only gonna pretend it never happened if thatâs what you want, because it sure as hell isnât what I want. If you even care about thatâ.
You angrily wipe your tears, cheeks burning scorching hot with embarrassment. âI didnât expect you to be so close. I freaked out. Iâm freaking out right now because youâre even closer, apparentlyâ.
âAre you disappointed?â.
You look at him, really look at him. His dishevelled hair, naturally narrowed eyes, the bridge of a perfect nose, full lips forced in a severe line. Heâs searching for something in your gaze, with fierce determination. How can one personâs eyes be so penetrating? You feel naked, exposed. Vulnerable.
âNoâ, you reply, sincere, âno, Iâm notâ. If only you could feel the relief taking over his chest. âBut⊠what now?â.
Suna feels as if heâs seeing you for the first time and, at the same time, itâs like heâs recovering something important, something precious. Heâs already trusted you with some of the most important, hidden parts of himself. He hasnât liked someone that way in such a long time and heâll be damned if he lets this chance pass by. Again.
Heâs not too late. Why does he always think he is?
You curiously watch as Suna takes his phone out and spends a few seconds tapping on it with a smile he can barely hide.
The familiar ping of a notification you haven't heard in weeks makes you stutter.
crysnoopy
-> Now we do this right.
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gotta say that i disagree that nobody fights for buck. in s5 taylor said it best: buck's life is full of meaningful relationships, actually. every person of the firefam would fight for and support buck. he is and will never be alone again in his life, especially during the hard times (which they reiterated in 8x05). meanwhile, we see thus being contrasted with tommy not having any kind if support system like that. the same seemed to be the case for taylor. i know people want tommy to fight for this, and i agree that i definitely need him to check his trauma and fears to work this out with buck. but buck is the main character that has had seasons of alleged development. he died and came back, got clarity, was supposed to finally feel good in his own skin, worked out his childhood trauma with his parents in therapy, formed a support system, now discovered he is bisexual and felt free with it. and now tommy is the only one who should grovel? i get the idea but. evan buckley is the character we have seen grow and learn. i want him to put in the work as well. look at how he fought for his job when he thought he would lose it forever. THAT is what i need from him rn. if he is just giving this up with a shrug, then i don't want bucktommy in canon. we have seen tommy taking care of buck and supporting him in all his shenanigans. i need to see that buck is absolutely serious about this and ready to fight for it. if he doesn't, he still hasn't found his true love or still doesn't know what he wants in life. i am bored by this. we have been here multiple times already. do something else with evan buckley finally or just allow him to be a bachelor forever.
okay yes buck has meaningful platonic and familial relationships.
no romantic partner has fought for him. abby ghosted him because of her own issues even though she's a fucking grown ass woman, ali got a reality check and broke up with him when he was in recovery after nearly dying, which okay, fair enough. and while i believe taylor did nothing wrong in reporting the jonah story, the narrative wants us to think she prioritised her work, and she did betray buck's trust which, again, buck wanted to protect his firehouse (which is his family) so he wasn't being objective. reporters exposing scandals within govt orgs that are supposed to protect the public is not a bad thing, actually. the only time he's broken up with someone first is natalia and we were told it's because she was obsessed with his died-and-came-back experience.
and listen. i love tommy more than anything. but buck is still the main character. we're going to see buck going through the breakup, not tommy. we're not going to get much about tommy's past. we're not going to get any scenes with tommy and another character if buck isn't also there. you remember karen going to chimney and them day drinking together because they thought hen was being unfaithful (again)? i wish we could see tommy and chimney talking about their buckleys. but the way the show got rid of all minor characters and consistently treats LIs as nothing more than LIs... i'm not hopeful. we'll get one scene with tommy's Explanation and i'm not even hopeful it's gonna be well written (but i'm sure lou will be serving. god. they wrote such a shitty break up scene and he fucking ATE.)
yeah, buck fucked up by jumping the gun and asking tommy to move in with him when he couldn't even say the i love you, and i hope this will be addressed in future eps. but tommy immediately ended the relationship because he Knows Better and left buck heartbroken. this is what happened on the show. the average viewer isn't doing ten layers of analysis to understand tommy's perspective, nor should they have to. i love the metas, i'm digging into tommy's headspace in my next fix it fic, but this is still the dumb weewoo show.
i don't think tommy needs to grovel, i don't think he's the Bad Guy in this story, i have a lot of empathy for tommy and so does the GA! they're not mad at tommy, they want him back! they want bucktommy back! and i want them both to fight for each other, to apologise and admit to their fuck ups and admit how much they care about each other and that they want to be each other's forever love! i want them to say i love you!
but buck is still the protagonist in this story and i don't want to see him running back to someone who broke up with him in such a way that had him asking "wait, did you just break up with me?" because again, this is what happened on our screens. i want tommy making the first move, opening the door for reconciliation, showing that he knows he made a mistake out of fear from his past trauma, for buck to then know he is wanted, that tommy came back for him, and then put in the effort to fight for them.
hope this makes sense. and as always, for people reading this - this is not the space for you to bash on buck's previous LIs, please take it elsewhere.
#asks#Anonymous#bucktommy#as someone who's been in buck's shoes#you don't know how meaningful it is when someone comes back for you#its only happened once in my life and even though we ended up falling out again i will always remember her as the one friend who came back#yeah yeah i'm too attached to buck because we are the same person. leave me alone lmao
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My Thoughts On Why Astarion Acts The Way He Does
While I'm waiting for Baldur's Gate 3's cloud status to upload, I've been thinking. I've seen a lot on social media about people questioning why Astarion disapproves when your character wants to save the gnomes (since they are also under an abusive master) or assisting the refugees and how he is always wanting a reward instead of just doing something nice for the sake of it. And I've talked with people who have helped me put this into better words. At least I hope. So I wanted to explain my perspective as someone who was abused when a kid/teen/even early adult.
I fought my abusers whenever I could, figuring if it was going to happen, I'd piss them off, which was satisfying. I liked seeing them hurt when bad things happened to them. I enjoyed making them suffer as I was, even if it wasn't the same as how they abused me. Then when anyone else made me angry, I wanted them to hurt (I never physically fought because I didn't want the pain, but I wished suffering upon them.). If someone started issues with a different authority figure, it annoyed me quite a bit because then I have another problem. And what if my abusers found out I was involved when I wasn't because someone I was with was upsetting the authority figure? It would become just one more issue I had to deal with. Too many details and nuances to keep track of when my mind needed to focus on the first problem. It made sense to stay on the good side of authority figures to keep myself safe and avoid trouble.
For me, something had to be worth doing or my mind just went back to worrying about sh*t, back to the fight or flight survival response. I needed that reward dopamine. Getting praises wasn't doing it for me, since I would forget the good because of the bad. Trauma brain is funny like that. I needed something physical and worthwhile to make me happy.
It's the reason why Astarion is my favorite character that I connected with the most. Not because of his beauty (not that he isn't an elegant elven man. Just that it wasn't what got me to like him. I'd lean more toward Gale or Wyll if it was by appearance for the male companions, though seeing Astarion half-naked with abs was a real shocker. I seriously thought he was a skinny elf đł), but because he reminds me so much of how I was and how my thought-process worked. How I kept people away by being rude just enough without them wondering if they should say something to my abusers. Because no matter how many times I told people outright I was being abused early on, no one helped, only tattle-told on me.
And I haven't even completed a playthrough yet. I only just got to the Elfsong before starting a Durge playthrough. First playthrough was an asexual Tav to get to know the characters and storyline (I kid you not, I made my Tav a Charlatan rogue then discovered Astarion was also a Charlatan rogue when I was in the forge đ). As I got to know them a bit more, Astarion intrigued me the most and when Patch 7 came out, I decided to play a Durge Romance. The first Durge both traumatized me up to Act 2 and made me adore and respect Astarion even more. So yeah, I'm romancing him on this Modded Durge Romance playthrough despite Gale having an interest in me, who is the male companion I would connect with if Astarion wasn't a companion (I'm literally just starting the Underdark area and Gale is already at 100 approval while Astarion is at 79 approval. I wish I had a library, I do have a cat, and I love me some white or pink wine đ).
This is what my perspective of why Astarion acts the way he does. He's not bad, per say. What happened to him for 200 years has made him what he is. Nobody can fix someone else, but they can be guided to help fix themselves. I've been working to fix myself since I got out of the situation. And I want to be the one to guide Astarion toward fixing himself.
If I think of more, I'll see about adding. For now, thank you for reading. I hope you have a great day. đ
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Slight TW for discussion of SH (Kurtâs angelic symbols in the movies)
I think the fact that the patterns on Kurtâs skin in the movies being self harm is skimmed over a lot by the fandom? Iâve not read the comics in years so I donât remember if theyâre canon outside of the movie universe.
But speaking in the context of the movie universe, these are scars that Kurt is covered in, itâs one of the first things he says in the movies, that he did them himself, not somebody else. Which is kind of side lined in the movie itself as well.
The next time theyâre brought up is at the end of X2, when Storm asks what they are, and when he explains that theyâre angelic symbols, and that he has one for every sin.
I dunno Iâm just a sucker for Catholic guilt and think people need to talk about this more, Iâll go into more depth another time if people are interested but I just needed to get the idea out there.
#as an ex Catholic Kurt has always been a favourite of mine#I wish people talked about his trauma more#rather than him just being oh ha ha funny German blue man#x men comics#x men movies#x men#kurt wagner#x2#nightcrawler#incorrect klave talks
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I love Jiang Cheng and I hope you agree. The most tragic thing about yunmeng siblings is that JC and WWX really love each other the whole time⊠I like to think they can fix it someday
Someday perhaps....in the meantime, I bet he's loving having dogs run around lotus pier. As a WWX deterrent of course. No therapeutic reasons at all.
#Poorly Drawn MDZS#MDZS#Jiang Cheng#As much as I put him on blast#I do like JC quite a bit.#Man....I'm sad you're on anon cause I'd love to talk more about the yunmeng sibiling tragedy#Part of me so badly wishes that they do reconcile after some time#though a good tragedy comes from the pain of what could have been#JC is definitely in my top 5 mdzs characters and its absolutely due to how messy he is#ngl I can kinda relate to where his hurt comes from and it makes it very interesting to analyze.#Favourism and antagonism of parents messes up sibling dynamics so much#The grief and trauma ended up causing a rift not a shared moment of solidarity#JC is a counter-representation and a foil to how LWJ deals with his grief#as heartbroken as LWJ is he...keeps his life going. The grief settles and he doesn't forget but he *moves forwards*#JC doesn't! He can't! He has so much guilt and regret and the grief stagnates him! Love and grief can become so terribly consuming!#He's so human for it! This is a story where no-one is morally black or white! *People* aren't black and white!
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âI donât want to give Jehovahâs organization a black eye so I have to suffer in silence. Oh the pain! The pain!â
Mhm. Have you ever considered that Jehovahâs organization has given you not one, but two proverbial black eyes, broken ribs, and a concussion over the years; and maybe you should expose them for the abusers they are, if only enough to get yourself help to heal from the abuse youâve experienced? Youâve got Stockholm syndrome bad, and youâre making it everyone elseâs problem. You cared about your abusers so much that you abused me in their name, just because I wanted no part of their organization. Even if I didnât seek out apostate resources, I wouldnât have needed them to make my decision to leave because of how much you vented about them to me since I was about five years old. Did you just expect me to stay here and take the abuse like you did? Iâm better than that; Iâm better than you.
#exjw#ex cult#I woke up and he was venting about it to my mom very loudly so I just went âfuck thatâ#I couldâve went somewhere in the house to eat but I specifically chose the 20 degrees F screen room so that both of them know#Iâd rather freeze than hear one more second of his venting knowing that he is still refusing to get help#Mom wants to watch the convention? Glorious. Iâm not leaving my room until heâs done talking. I will not be her deus ex machina#I will not be her excuse to end the conversation so she can watch the convention with me#She can sit there and listen to it; and maybe sheâll grow some reasoning ability and realize#the religion she so piously subscribes herself to is splitting us apart and killing her husband#and maybe sheâll begin to take his triggers seriously and not make passive-aggressive remarks about how she wants to listen#to all the comments and not mute it when an elder who sexually harassed him begins speaking#and maybe my dad will grow some common sense and realize that continuing to go to meetings will ensure he is in a state of trauma#for all eternity#and maybe â just maybe â they will realize that everything they read in my diaries was right#and that they were absolutely positively 100% in the wrong for screaming at me about their contents#and apologize for what theyâve done to each other and to me#But thatâs wishful thinking because [first name] âIâm more stubborn than youâ [last name] will hold out until it kills him#and my mom is ex-Catholic and convinced the JWs are entirely truthful just because she prefers the possibility of death over hellfire#You canât make this shit up#I live in a madhouse with crazy people
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I'm thinking about becoming a foster parent once I have permanent, stable housing....
#i helped my ex's daughter through her trauma after she & her brother had to be permanently removed from their mom#and i remember seeing her go from depressed and sad to happy and playful#because i'd spend at least 30 minutes a day talking to her alone about things#and like.... I wish an adult would have listened to me that way when i was a kid.#it made me feel so happy seeing a kid realize ''wow there are adults who will treat me like a human?''#i want to be able to do that for more kids#i can't have any more kids of my own and my 9 year old doesn't have anyone to play with except me#he's extremely empathetic and will go out of his way to make people feel better#so i know he'd be fine with some more ''traumatized'' kids around (already went thru it with the ex's kids)#.bdo
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on my soapbox again but. not every opinion should be an identity because then every dislike turns into oppression
#hi weirdgirlfag if you see this we're going through it#anyway i was in the t.ransid tag because someone asked them about it and hm ..#rapid fire take time#if you identify with wanting to have trauma yr probably traumatized#if you identify with having ocd (for example) you probably have obsessions/compulsions but feel like you need a label for validity#if you identify with being a different race yr a weeb who should log off and realize you can actually appreciate cultures.#rather than literally being born there#if you identify with a different age you probably wish you were less constrained by weird ideas of maturity#and most importantly. you need to consider yrself as religious/spiritual for believing in past lives and dimension shifting#those are metaphysical beliefs and you shouldnt be swayed into believing some cult tiktoker while able to maintain yr atheist identity#..when you look in the mirror.#theres not even anything bad about having those as spiritual beliefs i just dont want people with preexisting beliefs on religion#to be talked into increasingly more controlling shit#ps. t.rans-opinion doesnt have to be a thing because opinions are different than rigid social constructs. you can just lie.
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ive spent like 20 minutes trying to world this eloquently but i give up; im a big fan of linebeck just. not being capable of watching over kids not the person to be the guardian of a group of young people he struggles to take care of himself at times and has so much shit going on that it takes about one conversation with oshus for the old man to realize that this guy is. not doing great
#this was gonna be like. a jokey post at first juxtaposing oshusâ expectations vs reality with linebeck but im too emotionally drained#so real linebeck talk in the tags bc idk if ive actually talked much abt like. the specific as on why. iwrite and see him the way i do#likr. off the bat i put him at like 19 in ph and im too fucking tired and just. done rn to justify that like whatever kill me if you wish.#like. hes. been throught a lit hes been abused neglected used ignored hurt ridiculed violated deceived hes so fucking tired#hes worn down over the course of ph it causes him to finally like. express his anguish over what hes been theough its cathartic#hes getting pushed but talking to oshus and being around link loosens him up and he fucking. cries properly yknow#he cries about everything and the last bit of ph hes kind of an emotional wreck but hes finally letting himself feel all that shit#he cries he struggles to articulate himself he has a violent public meltdown as he becomes fed up with his reputation#and it all culminates in bellumbeck just. being a really raw examination of what hes been through and how he feels and what to do now#he hates people he has people he wants to kill people he wanted to kill but after bellumbeck its just. hes tired. hes processed everythjng#and then he needs the post ph crew and everyone they meet along the way to just. be a fucking support system for the first time ever#like post ph hes rhe captain he runs the ship he keeps everyone in line he can do that. but hes softer more vulnerable more self doubting#hes kinder and more hesitant but trying new things and being more openly passionate abt his interests#and he keeps working through his trauma he finds out what else it causes problems for and everyone. supports him#hes not capable of like. being any kind of parental figure to link in ph his perspective on like. how to handle kids is fucked#because his perspective on what a normal childhood should look like is kind of a mess#his perspective on relationships is murky on love on adventure on self expression but post ph hes just. free. tired but free#he manages to take naps the group helps him eat properly he learns his physical boundaries and actually does what he loves#idk. im just. man idk. its still measy but like. my version of linebeck is. i really hate the idea that its so out of character its not him#like. idfk what to even say abt that. idfk what âin characterâ looks like when you hc a character to be masking in canon#when you hc them to be lying and covering things up and just. subdued bc theyre working on stuff#that they lie and exaggerate their own traits on purpose but let the truth through some cracks like what rhe fuck then#i hate it bc i dont see anyone else think of linebeck anything like this so im scared im fucking wrong somehow#im tired. i recently learned that one of my cats has been burrowing under and chilling under a blanket we cover a couch with#its very cute
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I hate finding a fandom that likes to take a slightly emotional character and makes them cry and have panic attacks constantly in every fic. Least favorite fandom trope ever
#leave my man Kirk alone đ he's a little sensitive. he's in tune with his feelings.#he's not sobbing every episode or having breakdowns every time something stressful happens in screen#I don't WANT to read about his trauma feelings when as far as I can tell they are Grossly exaggerated in every instance#sure. I will accept he was traumatized by the shit that happened in his childhood#however if he was acting like he is made to in half these fics he quite literally would not be fit for command#ack. this isn't just a kirk thing though#I really have so little patience for visibly or over the top emotional characters to begin with#I know it's my low empathy talking but it's so annoying#shut up!!!! put it away!!!!! I don't want a character sobbing every time someone treats them nice for however many chapters#suck it up and move on!!! get into more interesting shit!#I know people use fanfic as an outlet or therapy or whatever but I wish they would write about more interesting feelings#or find more interesting ways of having characters express them#like idk. give Kirk weird issues around food cause of starving as a kid#give him weird attachment problems that make him over protective but also distant to avoid being sad when they die#make him work extra hard to keep the enterprise safe because it's like the one consistent home he's had#make him relentlessly curious because his education as a kid was inconsistent so he works to learn everything he can now#or like he over compensates for his lack of childhood education. have him perceive failings there where there aren't any or something#make him have lots of issues with dictators#I mean fucks sake even in the episode with the man who killed half the people on the colony he was on as a kid#he kept a level head and was the only one trying to actually work through it logically and didn't immediately jump to trying to kill the guy#unlike the other characters#it just makes zero sense to have him falling apart over essentially nothing all the time#it's just stupid!!!! and annoying!!! and I don't want to read it!!!!
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the Nate Shelley s3 arc reminds me of the s5 Murphy arc in terms of how much I actually loved it despite it not being widely liked by the fandom and was actually disappointed because it wasn't ugly enough lol
and it's basically the same arc. character with deep-seated wounds and a lack of true self-love has realistic, damaging coping methods and crashes and burns spectacularly by hurting other people around them and isolating themselves because it doesn't matter how good things get for you, deep-seated wounds that don't get addressed will eventually come out one way or another. and it will be ugly when they do.
the Murphy arc was disappointing because it got wrapped up way too easily with Memori getting back together which didn't actually address ANY of Murphy's issues and Nate's was disappointing because it just didn't commit fully to being ugly and didn't let him be enough of an asshole
#with murphy it's like. do the writers even reallly REALIZE what they had written on a character level and how much it made sense and added#to murphy's character or did they just develop a reason for Memori to break up for drama and then didn't care to actually go through the#work of character growth and just got them together at the end of the season no issues#and with nate it's like. yes I DO think the majority of audiences and the fandom would have absolutely villianized nate if he had been even#meaner in s3 and probably wouldn't have celebrated him getting back with the team. I just KNOW people would have been talking about how he#didn't deserve it or hadn't made up for it enough if he had been worse in s3#which is so unfair when a) this show tries to show how hurt can make people ugly and b) other characters get the benefit of the doubt wa#more than nate. (jamie's a little different bc it's easier to accept asshole > redeemed arcs a little more than likeable > downfall to#asshole > redeemed again bc we see the transition to being an asshole#BUT also. still. jamie did some nasty stuff that people just forget or completely forgive. and he ends up fandom favorite#and it's not that nate needed to become the fan fave or anything#I just wish people would give characters who are realistically ugly and human and complicated more grace#especially when they're not the conventionally attractive fan fave pretty boy you know#or like with murphy it's like all his actual harsh edges got sanded down by fandom. same as with Jamie#so even when he had an arc where he was acting terribly in a self destructive unhealthy kind of way that hurt others#people made it ALL about his hurt uwu other people hurt him!! it was Emori's fault!! he did nothing wrong bc he has trauma!! instead of lik#accepting that hurt people hurt people is more than a simple phrase it is true and human and UGLY when it happens#anyways#why do i always ramble more in the tags and write like a full epilogue in here
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I think I am doing okay, here.
I wish so many things could have been different. My heart aches for it. But I wouldn't have found my voice, otherwise, nor would I have met so many wonderful people and creatures.
I wish the other one would worry less. It's very silly to realize he thought I was the panicked one... now I've organized my mind and honed my edge, and he's the one who keeps feeling down...
I don't entirely understand why... life is very good. Everyone is getting a little better. It aches because I can feel it like a physical creature clawing in the skull, and whispering all of the misery in this world, the atrocities, the tragedies, the possibilities of so many things ending, or of getting hurt or worse for who he is. And being afraid for the people he cares about...
But that doesn't help us sleep right now. It doesn't change that tomorrow morning the sun will rise and we don't have work and we could do anything, within reason of course.
I'm not sure. Maybe I am the stupid one for being so positive. But one of us has to be, now.
Maybe it's just my instincts waking up again. It's so easy to throw my aching heart and memories away when someone I care about needs me. And right now, once more, we just need to rest.
Nothing bad is even happening! We had a nice day. We talked to friends, we played a game and lost track of time because it was so much fun. I liked that game and the name is appropriate, Loop Hero. Ironic but fitting! We helped a friend feel better after a nightmare. And now it's OUR turn to rest.
Nothing is wrong. Everything is alright. Many big steps forward this coming week. I feel his worry creeping into my heart too, but there's no need for it. We were brave and confident before, we can be that way again. :)
- Grist
#system journaling#see I can remember what words I need to use...! Sometimes.#I think I made him sad because my friends have their own blogs now and I immediately wanted to look at them#he let me but it just made him upset. But why? I chose to unfollow. He felt better after that. Why worry?#I am familiar and content with friendships between firey souls that do not last very long.#Better to rest them down gently. You should always leave friends at least a little bit better than you found them#If I did that then I am happy :)#I just wish he would believe me that it's alright... I know who I am... even if other people see me as a mistake that's fine#I've been around too long to care too much about that. Even from my own family. Trauma makes long bonds difficult#Sometimes when they are healed they can rekindle but..... foresight is a gift and a curse for these things. Better to let them go entirely#than hold onto what isn't there.#... I think he needs to talk to his friend again. The one that lives here.#I think he needs closure that these things are alright. After all that was 8 years and they are so much happier now :)#Hmm. This is getting long#I will let it rest. The heart is already a little softer and everything is less tense. His memory is AWFUL and he can never remember what I#talk about on my own but hopefully he will see that I am content and stop worrying so much about me. And focus more on better things#like making my damned music list like he keeps saying he will! But that is a joke to make him laugh :) There is never any rush.
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just thinking about sam wilson <3
#this is a marvel fan post im sorry to the haters but ill never stop loving marvel#aka sam wilson deserves better#aks in canon (please just let him be captain america with redwing sidekick)#but also by fandom he is much more than a bucky boyfriend or a mlm ship#kinda wish he had his own show without bucky so people could see him for the absolute king he is and not just another body#that people could ship bucky with since his other ship is either 99 years old or dead or whatever happened to steve#this is not bucky hate because he deserves better anyways like yall cant talk about him without it being about steve#dude has literally ALL the trauma and yall are like omg but he loves steve and steve abandoned him to be with peggy#okay and he has his own life??? like bfr#back to sam wilson#dude lost his best friend became a therapist (i think they werent clear if he was official or just a support person with experience)#is honorable#very funny and respectful of everyone like he treats his supplies with respect rather than stuff that can be tossed#is down to clown#is willing to look at all sides#is loyal#handsome but thats not important#also dude can give a SPEECH like he could read off the yellow pages and i would be SAT
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Hey I liked your writing on reader having to get in between Wolverine and Deadpool all the time đ it made me think what it would be like if they were crushing on you and there is a rivalry between them. If you could write what theyâd do to win your favor or what shenanigans that would come with it đ subtle or not
These two werenât fond of sharing.
So when the other finds that they have similar feelings towards you, the outcome is never good.
Theyâre childish in a way where if either Logan or Wade was coincidentally standing too close to you, the other was bound to notice and make a scene out of it, all the while you wished you were anywhere else in that moment.
The pair couldnât get along even if they bothered to try as sooner or later theyâd end up stabbing each other just because the other one was breathing too loudly or just merely existing.
And yet their feelings towards you ends up causing Logan and Wade to butt heads more often, especially if you were constantly teaming up together, with you often being their meditator in all their conflicts.
Wade was more vocal and borderline flirty when it came to interacting with you, he would crack jokes, boop you on the nose or even playfully smack you on the ass just to hear your yelp in surprise and become all flustered.
âPlush ass youâve got there, babe! wouldnât mind laying my head on it sometime and use it as a beautiful fluffy pillow.â - Wade, skipping away.
Wade could be quite clingy at times so there would be moments where you can barely escape the guy as he hanging on your side like a koala bear.
You: Wade can you let go.
Wade: and let go of my emotional support person? *gasp* Do you want me to die?
You: well considering how fast you regenerate, you technically canât die-
Wade: do you hate me? Do you think Iâm clingy?
You: no- well yes but-
Wade: you hate me!
Wade can be dramatic and the only way to shut him up is to just let him be in close proximity of you and allow him to talk your ear off about how good a dog parents youâd be to Dogpool.
Dogpool is your weakness, you could never say no to Dogpool and Wade knows this like the back of his hand and will use this as leverage over wolverine.
After all Itâs not like he has a version of himself that was an actual wolverine or maybe even a honey badger in yellow spandex. So Wade counts this as a win on his end.
Logan on the other hand would be more subtle with his approach, even though to Wade, Loganâs subtly was as an dopey cow standing in a field of grass with how the scruffier man tended to keep by your side protectively; so much so that he might as well start growling at every person who ever laid eyes on you in general.
Heâs a guard dog of a man in every sense of the word but how that came to be was from a whole lot of trauma and loosing people heâs ever cared about, so needless to say he wonât act like heâs interested in you at first, his heart had been wounded about as much as his body has and even had the mental scars to prove it.
Heâs lived a long life of pain, fighting, suffering and heartache. Heâs not going to falter so easily until you did something that made him feel safe enough to fall for you.
Once he has however it was impossible to go about the mission without him always wanting to stand guard by your side when he sees someone he doesnât fully trust, always using his body as a shield for your own as Logan knew he could handle much more punishment then you could. So heâd rather avoid you being grievously hurt by any means possible.
Heâd probably scold you if you ever were hurt as he was afraid that he might loose you, yet his hands were gentle but firm as they worked to patch your wound so itâd heal properly.
Wolverine: youâre an idiot you know.
You: wow I really feel the love over here.
Wolverine: *huffs* you expect me to kiss your ass when what you did was reckless and couldâve killed you? *his hands linger on your own even long after heâs done patching you up as though committing your warmth to memory*
Logan is a secret softy who wouldnât push you away if you were to ever fall asleep on him, heâd grumble but thatâs about it.
Heâd even toss you his jacket if you were to ever complain about being too cold or leave it somewhere for you to take yourself, again heâd act like he didnât want you to but he actually did with how he almost smiled upon seeing you looking comfortable in his jacket.
Logan is evidently more subtle about his crush on you then Wade is, or so heâd likes to think but Wade can messily tell heâs smitten when he sees how Loganâs eyes were quick to follow you in a crowded room with protectiveness and adoration.
Wade: aww has our dear friend taken the stick out of your ass and you fell in love?
Logan: *growls* fuck off Wade.
Wade: *holds his hands to his lips and gasps* oh my gosh! You have! Me too!
Logan: *looks at him* you what?!
Wade: yeah cats out of the bag, I like them too wolvie. youâre not the only one to find them cute, how close minded of you seriously.
They canât share to save their lives, Iâve mentioned this before but they genuinely canât even if they tried because one is them was bound to get jealous and try to take you away from the other.
Wade: do you really want to be near me grumpy all the time? Yawn fest much.
You: stop riling him up, youâre making Logan mad. Why are you like this?
Wade: maybe because you deserve to be in the company of someone who isnât still unhealthily hung up on his previous red headed lover.
Logan: you shut your fucking mouth.
Wade: see! Heâs not denying it!
You: Iâm going to go now. *leaves*
Logan: you should make full time fuck head your job.
Wade: and you should make full time teenage brooder in a full grown manâs body who still isnât over his first breakup yours.
The shenanigans that would occur between these two would be headache inducing to say the least.
The constant fights that would break out between them that youâd have to break up.
The bickering over who gets to act like a couple with you on missions. They might even play rock, paper, scissors multiple times behind your back.
Wade probably tried to trip Logan up in front of you once but it backfired when Logan made Wade trip up instead as he puts a hand on your lower back and guided you away from the poor Merc with a mouthful of dirt.
#marvel x you#marvel x reader#marvel imagine#marvel imagines#marvel x y/n#mcu x you#mcu x reader#mcu imagines#mcu imagine#deadpool x you#deadpool imagines#deadpool imagine#deadpool x reader#wade wilson imagines#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson imagine#wolverine imagine#wolverine imagines#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine
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The Invisible String Theory
PAIRING: König x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).
WORDCOUNT: 9.2k
WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021
LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY
TIME OF EVENT: 0230
MISSION REPORT: PENDINGâŠ.'
You donât remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since youâd been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.Â
Never in your life did you think youâd be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think youâd be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.Â
You hadnât been with this cell initiallyâyouâd been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and OceaniaâŠyouâd been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldnât name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: youâd never been to Germany before.Â
They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, firstânot only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.Â
You wished you were only a tourist.Â
Youâd watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.Â
This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.Â
For days youâd be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.Â
It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.Â
You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.Â
Ivon was the manâs name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.
Hated his touchâhated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Catâsaid you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.
You didnât deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.
A doll.Â
The townhouse youâd been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl youâd been thrown. No jacket.Â
The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to workâat the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.
But the tripâthe trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didnât even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.Â
âCome,â Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.Â
Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold outâyou were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didnât make you feel any better.Â
That was when you first saw him.Â
You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash awayâstart screaming and yelling until the authorities came.Â
It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldnât be so fortunate, youâd be sentencing them to death. None of this was simpleâit needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.
The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.Â
âAre you alright?â A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.
Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else didâthe invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.Â
âYes,â you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. âYes,â you say again, hearing Ivonâs voice behind you still on the phone. âIâm fine, thank you.â
Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.Â
âAre youâŠsure, Maâam?âÂ
âThank you for your concern,â you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.Â
His stature made you slightly nervousâlarge, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.
Königâs eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.
Ivon hangs up his phone.Â
âCan I help you?â He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.Â
This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the armsâhe slips out of it while still uttering.Â
Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat thatâs still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.Â
You donât even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.
Yet it could only last so long.Â
Ivonâs hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.Â
König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his sideâready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldnât understand why he would do that.Â
The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, heâs gone.Â
That was all it had been; a momentâa few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.Â
Of course, they hadnât let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.Â
But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.Â
This was the time it happened, and youâd just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.Â
You were always kept on the ground floor.Â
'CLEARANCE: APPROVEDÂ
TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT âRED FREEDOMââŠ
STAND BYâŠ
Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.
Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floorâŠ.'
You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.Â
âCold,â you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didnât help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.Â
Youâre only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they donât hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledgeâshaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.
A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.Â
Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if youâd really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.Â
Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the woodâevery pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.Â
Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservationâpain couldnât bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldnât get back going again.Â
Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But thereâs something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you donât know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.Â
There was someoneâŠ.out there.Â
Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.Â
Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that arenât chilled over.
Something was happening. Something wasnât right.
Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.Â
A yell.Â
A scream.Â
The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming woodâa warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.
You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.Â
The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.Â
But the gunfireâso much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.Â
What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then itâs like it never happened.
Silence.Â
You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but itâs hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you allâthe women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.Â
'âŠSquad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.
Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'Â
The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.Â
Largeâbrutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before itâs moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.
A monster.
Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.Â
âCat,â one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.Â
âDonât speak,â you mutter. âDonât move.â
You donât know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.Â
The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.
âIch heiĂe König,â his head swivels from one to another, âSprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?â
You stare blankly, panting.Â
After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, itâs in English.Â
âMy name is König.â His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. âI am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.âÂ
Military? Raid?Â
â...I am not here to hurt you.â He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking backâmaking him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasnât helping. Neither was the hood.Â
A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.Â
König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.
The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.Â
Your eyes donât move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.Â
âWe have to leave this place,â the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. âWeâll get you medical attention. Food. Water. Thereâs no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.â A pause. âWe can get you back home.âÂ
That certainly got the attention that was needed.Â
Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyoneâs mind.Â
Home.
Did you even have one of those left?Â
As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waitingâtrying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.Â
You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stainedâthose thin blankets as you shiver.Â
âAre you alright?â Your head snaps over.Â
Youâd forgotten about König.
He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. âPleaseâŠdo not be afraid.â
âIâm not afraid,â you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.Â
You canât see his eyesânot with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.Â
âThat is good,â he answers, not convinced. âIâm glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.â He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. âPlease. It is best not to linger, yes?â Â
âDo IâŠâ you hesitate, shivering. âDo I know you from somewhere?âÂ
Königâs face isnât visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.Â
Blue-gray.Â
You stare, mouth parting in shock.
König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into hisâthe same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.
That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.Â
âYou?â You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.Â
Itâs a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.Â
âYou gave me your jacket,â you whisper, still torn up about it.Â
Königâs hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.Â
A protective knife sides into his side.
âCome.â The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. Königâs fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. â...Letâs get you warmer, Schatz, yes?âÂ
You blink.
âItâs cold here,â you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.Â
âYes,â he agrees, nodding. âVery cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?â
Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great bootsâyou lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.Â
âNo.â He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. âIâve never been here before.âÂ
König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, âDo you require any immediate medical attention?âÂ
Again, you shake your head.Â
âWhere are the others?â You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.Â
âJust outside,â König glances at the bodies across the roomâthe ones heâd riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didnât feel bad about it, and when heâd finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.Â
But now wasnât the time for that.Â
âI will bring you to them,â the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. âSlowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.â
You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of youâlarge armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy. Â
Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day heâd first met you.Â
âDo you want me to carry you?â He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasnât stupidâhe wouldnât touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. âI will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...â He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. âIâŠwill not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.âÂ
You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.Â
The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights onâfaces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the manâs reindeer.Â
Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakesâa few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.
âThe hood scared them,â you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. âTheyâre used to people trying to hide their faces, but yoursâŠwith how large you areâŠâ
âI understand.â König doesn't tear away his eyes. â...Did I scare you, Schatz?â
You donât know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the nightâs airâthe puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.Â
Eyes widening only a sliver more, Königâs breath is in his throat.
It was like listening to a birdâs song.
âMaybe only a little,â you whisper to him. âBut itâs okay. Iâm scared of most things.âÂ
He licks his lips, but youâre unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.Â
âThen I will make it up to you, yes?â He holds out a hand. âLet me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.â
You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into itâits blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he wonât hurt you.Â
âIâve got you,â he says.Â
In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.Â
âCan you tell me your name,â he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the groundâmaking sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.Â
âEveryone calls me Cat.â Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. Königâs head tilts. You canât help but find it endearing.
âKatze?â He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. âThat isâŠinteresting.âÂ
You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.Â
The soldier quickly reassures you. âNearly there.âÂ
The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sagâthe other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.Â
Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.Â
Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.Â
âWe will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel toââ
âThank you, König,â you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. âAnd please extend my thanks to your men as well.âÂ
â...Of course, Katze.â König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. âThere is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.â The manâs gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.Â
König slips out a soft, âThere are blankets under the seats,â before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.Â
You canât help but smile.Â
'âŠHostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.Â
Next of kin were informed of their family membersâ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'
You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way youâd not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess boardâa connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You donât know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.Â
It nearly made you cry.Â
Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.Â
âIs there anything else you might need, Dear?â Her accent is prominent, though not as much as Königâs had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.Â
âNo,â you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. âI think thatâs all.â Your eyelids blink. âButâŠâ you stop.
âWhat is it?â The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.
âThe manâKönig,â you pause. âIs he here?âÂ
Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. âNot currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.â At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. âWouldâŠyou like me to tell him something for you?âÂ
Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he didâhim and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.Â
âJust,â you breathe softly. âJust that Iâm sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasnât expensive.â
The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.Â
âOf course. Iâll tell him.â She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bedâand the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.Â
Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.Â
Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You donât know why youâre crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasnât anything prompting you to do so?Â
But something was prompting youâthe knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if youâre so used to living in it.Â
Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.Â
That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.Â
â
Königâs leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.Â
Tap-tap, tappity-tap.Â
His fingers were always fidgetingâmoving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.Â
But Königâs mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.Â
He was angry he hadnât acted outside of that coffee shopâangry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldierâs jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.Â
âVerdammt,â he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. âShould have done something.â
König gets to his commanding officerâs office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldnât stay silent tonight. Thereâs no doubt that he wonât be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.Â
The manâs head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom heâd taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the baseâs hospitalâEva.Â
â...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coatâŠâ
Königâs heart had twisted at thatâthat was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how youâve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.Â
The manâs eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.Â
Curfew was long pastâthis had to be quick.Â
Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.Â
He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.
âKatze?â He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. âWhat room?â
The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.Â
Itâs no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.Â
Was this appropriate?
König didnât have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firmâhe just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets heâs put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.Â
He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.Â
After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocksâa bit louder.Â
âShe is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,â he utters, accent low and grating. âLeave her alone.â But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.Â
With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.Â
He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.Â
König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bedâstacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.Â
Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bedâfingersâand the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over Königâs lips until he finds himself chuckling.
âNiedlich,â he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.Â
Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.
âKönigâŠ?â Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.Â
Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldierâs face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.
With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.
âI did not mean to wake you, Katze.â He finds your eyes and nods to you. âI apologize. Go back to sleepâyou must be tired.âÂ
 âWait,â you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.Â
âWhat is it,â the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. âDo you need anything?âÂ
The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. â...Did you know that I would be in that house?â
König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.Â
âNo,â he explains gently, coming closer. âNo, I did not. I do not get told such thingsâonly where to shoot and where not to.â The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. âBut I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.â
âYou were worried?â You canât quite grasp it.
âJa,â he nods. âYour eyesâthey have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?âÂ
Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.Â
â...Yours, too,â you confess. Königâs heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. âTheyâre very nice, König.â
He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. âYou can thank my mother for them, then.â He chuckles. âI have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.â
You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.
âI donât sleep well,â you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. âI was awake when you opened the door.âÂ
He nods after a moment. âJa.â A pause. âI donât eitherâŠNightmares?âÂ
You watch him before nodding tinily.Â
âAh,â he mutters. âThey are not pleasant, Iâm sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do youâŠâ König wonders if he should leaveâthis was far more than he had anticipated. âDo you wish for me to stay?âÂ
 Why had he said that?
The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.
âI donât want to be a nuisance,â you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.
âYou are not. Do not call yourself such.â His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. âIf you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.â
âBut what about you?â Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that itâs angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasnât going to complain about it.Â
âIâm not tired, Schatz.â A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, âPlease, go back to sleep. Iâll watch over you.â
You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the manâs ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.Â
âWhat are you laughing at, then, hm?âÂ
âYou look like youâre about to break it,â you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.Â
König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. âPerhaps,â he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. âIt would not be the first, Iâm afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.â He smirks. âBut Iâll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.âÂ
You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.Â
âI bet,â you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. âItâs a funny image.â
âYou can laugh all you want,â König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. âIt does not bother me.âÂ
Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.Â
'âŠSigned,
[REDACTED]
SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021
END OF MISSION REPORT âRED FREEDOMâ
RETURNING TO SELECTION MENUâŠ
STAND BYâŠ'
Itâs only after most of the other women leaveâsent home to awaiting families or loved onesâthat you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While youâre excited to put this behind you, you canât help but feel a bitâŠlost.Â
Thereâs something that keeps you here, on this base, until youâre the last out of all of them, waiting. And then youâre given the green light to goâgo homeâand suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and youâre closing the door to your room with the little nightlightâs plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.Â
You take a long, deep, breath.Â
Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasnât needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreamsâthe good ones, of course.Â
You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.Â
Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you donât have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.
Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.Â
At the entrance, you say a heartfelt âthank youâ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little timeâyou know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.Â
König waits by the door, holding it open withâŠyou blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.
The coat.Â
âI had to have it processed,â he says, smiling as you gape at him. âVery long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.âÂ
âThen why are you handing it to me,â you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.Â
âI gave it to you, did I not?â The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. âItâs a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.â Gray eyes crinkle gently. âI would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?â
You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands donât hesitate to grasp the item, Königâs hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like itâs worth its weight in gold.Â
König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.Â
âKeep it safe for me,â is what he ends with, but his expression tells you heâs not talking about the coat.Â
It makes your arms tingleâyour heart skips a beat.Â
âIâll be sure it never gets lost,â you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.Â
Enigmatic.Â
Königâs reverential face is soft with care.Â
âGood,â he mutters, unable to look away. âVery good.â
Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.Â
It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.Â
The snow wasnât falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.Â
König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didnât even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.Â
Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, Königâs scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.Â
At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with himâgray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.Â
It had to be this. The string wouldnât break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.
âThankââ
âDonât,â he says, not blinking, looking up at you.Â
You smile. âWhat do you want me to say, then?âÂ
âYou donât have to say anything to me.â You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. â....Live well,â König utters. âHeal, Mein Schatz.âÂ
The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.Â
Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.Â
Live well.Â
You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.Â
The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.Â
 âFor whenever you find what youâre looking for.â
'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE
REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]
ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021
TIME: 1422
OPEN FILE?...
REQUEST CANCELEDâŠ.
RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENUâŠ
FILE SELECTEDâŠ.
TRANSLATINGâŠ
STAND BYâŠ
REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022
OPEN FILE?...
REQUEST CANCELEDâŠ
SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'
You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasnât just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the pastâthree years, now. You like to think youâd learned something in that time.
âDanke schön,â you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. âPerfekt.âÂ
She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. âMöchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?â
âNein, nein,â you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. âDanke.âÂ
The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.Â
It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is looseâyour gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.Â
A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.Â
Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lightingâa buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.
After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.
There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.
Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.Â
Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.Â
Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.Â
A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.
He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.Â
His voice graces your ear.
â...Katze?â You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.
âHow do you feel about coffee, König?âÂ
Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.
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inbetween | spencer reid
good riddance x spencer reid one shot series master list
summary ; after months over talking over email, you and spencer finally meet in person.
warnings ; reader & spencer fall in love over emails, meeting in person, insecure reader, insecure spencer, worries about not being enough, pretty much just pure fluff tbh.
an ; in between yall. this song. this is the first oneshot in the good riddance x spencer reid one shot series!! while i waiting for the poll to finish!!
part one, part two, part three
âI just can't come between 'em, they got their own thing I wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ring. For more than a couple seconds, oh, I think maybe two. two hearts just fallin' in and out of love for somethin' new. âi wish that you could see 'em, their faces lighten up their past is cold and empty, they know it's been enough of waitin' on somebody, someone who doesn't care but he knows her name, she knows he'll always be thereâ
<>
The email rang up at exactly 5:30, exactly when you expected it to. You were sitting at your desk at work, knees pulled to ur chest as you spun on the desk chair. Your coworkers paid no mind to your antics, after working in the safe office for years, with each other. They were used to it by now.
You chewed at your lip as you refreshed your email when the clock changed to exactly 5:30, a wide smile dawned your face when you read the email, you heart ached with longing as your eyes traced over the words on the screen, your stomach tightening and your heart clenching.
Sent from [email protected] at 5:30pm
Hi.
I donât know when this will send because Iâm writing it while on the jet, probably as we get lower and more towards landing, Iâll spare you the scientific details. We only got back from a case this morning, early. Which is why it has taken me so long to reply. Im sorry.
We got a case in Maryland, which I remember you telling me, is where you live. I know I should probably just ask for your phone number but I kind of enjoy the emailing thing. Itâs a lot less nerve racking because I can try to pass it off as professional, even though a lot of the time our conversations arenât.
I actually donât think we have ever had a professional conversation. Which is a good thing. I really enjoy our conversations no matter what we are talking about. I really enjoy talking to you.
I hope this isnât too forward but I wanted to know if theres any chance I could see you while Iâm in Maryland for this case. I donât know when it would be or how long Iâd be able to see you for, but I do really want to see you. If thats okay with you.
I guess I should give you my number, so you know Iâm not some creepy old man. That would be ironic since I work at the FBI and my job is to stop people like that⊠I donât know.
Heres my number, 023387677
Love, Spencer.
Your stomach tightened at the idea of seeing him in person. You never admitted it, but you knew he wasnât an old man, you knew exactly who he was. You made the decision to google his name 6 months ago, when the two of you first started emailing back and forth after he accidentally sent a work email to the wrong person and you replied. It started as just telling him he had sent it to the wrong person, then he thanked you and apologised and made a joke and then the conversation just flowed.
You had been having conversations with Spencer Reid for six months and you felt like you knew more about him than you did yourself. He told you about his day, and about things he had been through, He opened up to you about his addiction and his mom and you opened up to him about your own trauma and issues.
Spencer Reid was your best friend and you had never met him. You had never even heard his voice. You only had seen his face on google when you searched up âSpencer reid FBIâ and a photo came up, he looked younger than you assumed in it, seeing the photo was from a few years ago. You felt slightly bad since you knew he could google you and probably come up empty handed â you had the upper hand.
You look at the clock as it inches closer to six o-clock when you finish work. A boring office job, you often complained to Spencer about. It was ironic since his job literally traumatised him, and yet you complained about the boring desk job, although he never ever compared, he would listen and comfort you after a bad day no matter what, just like you did for him.
You donât reply to the email he sent as you typed the number he sent into your phone, saving the contact under âspenceâ The nickname that had developed only weeks into the two of you talking. You send him a text, letting him know it was you, saying hi.
âPhone.â You hear your boss, warning you about using your phone at work, you lift your head an apologetic smile on your face as you close your phone, placing it face down on your desk as you close your email and return to your work after muttering out a sheepish, âSorry!â
Spencer is sitting in a conference room of the police station in Maryland. He didnât know it but he was only two blocks away from the office you worked. He never usually cared to check his phone while working â nothing could be as important as the case.
Until you, until now.
He found himself hanging out to feel the buzz in his pocket, he found himself checking his phone just in case maybe he missed the message. Just in case you did message.
He also checked his email a lot.
âWhats up with boy wonder?â Derek asked as he spun a chair to sit on it backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair as he looked around at the other team members. Spencer focus on anything other than the case.
âHe gave mystery girl his numberâ Emily said, patting Spencers shoulder softly to get his attention as she walked past him, placing a coffee down in front of him. Spencer noticed how it was his normal order â despite the fact lately he had been getting your order, after he found out what it was. It made him feel a little bit closer to you.
âOo, Okay lover boy.â Derek hummed approvingly, raising his eyebrow slightly as he looked down at the boy. Spencer sighed as he let back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table as he checked to get no message. âNothing yet?â Emily asked, knowing Spencer had been stressing since he sent the email on the jet, nearly two hours ago.
He didnât know it hadnât even delivered until a few minutes ago.
âShes probably just busyâ Spencer muttered as he checked his watch for the time. 5:33pm, youâd be at work.
Derek shared a look with Emily, both with teasing smiles on their faces. They had watched Spencer obsess over the girl for the past 6 months, even after he tried to hide it for the first few. He did a horrid job, they all noticed him smiling at his computer and typing away more often than ever, they noticed his focus slight adverted. It took a bit but they eventually got it out of him when you didnât email him back for a week and he was going insane with worry that maybe you were ghosting him, or that you were hurt.
He confided in his team, you emailed him a few days later saying your wifi went down and none of your emails were going through. He was instantly relieved.
His phone buzzed on the table, 5:35pm. His hand instantly reached out for his phone. His eyes widened and his lip twitched upwards as he read the message that lit his screen.
âAnd lover boy is inâ Derek whispered to Emily, loud enough that Spencer could hear that only ended up in Spencer sending him a glare, before typing out a reply and sending it, asking to call you tonight when he got finished.
âAlright, We got a leadâ Hotch said entering the room.
You leant against the back of your head board, your hair wet and dripping down the back of your neck as you waited nervously for call to ring through your phone. You were almost terrified of what the conversation might hold. You were glad you were calling before you agreed or disagreed to meeting him, you could feel out whether or not it might be awkward or not.
You almost jumped out of your skin as your phone started ringing, anxiety pooled in your stomach as your skin flushed hot, causing the drops of water on the back of your neck feel as if it was burning the skin. You reached out for your phone that rested on your bed side table, answering the call.
âHi.â You muttered out a breath of air. You couldnât even help but smile as the realisation dawned on you. You were talking to Spencer. Finally, actually talking to him.
You heard a harsh breath on the other side of the phone before some shuffling. âHold onâ He mumbled out, you stomach fluttered at his voice as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you bit back a smile.
âOkay.â You said, you heard some more shuffling before the sound of a door closing, then a creek. And then a breath.
âHiâ He settled on, you sat up a bit, crossing your legs as his word came out almost breathy and nervous. It made your chest thump against your ribcage so much it ached. âSorryâ I shouldâve waited till I was in my hotel room to call, I was excitedâ Sorryâ He said.
You could hear the nerves in his voice and all it did was make your cheeks beat a rosy hue. âItâs okay. I was nervousâ You admit softly, you try to hide the slight embarrassment in your voice but it fails you as your words come out small.
You hear him chuckle. You think the sound genuinely makes your mind fall empty of any coherent thoughts. âYou donât have to be nervousâ He spoke so softly as if his words were an exhale he had been holding in.
âBut I amâ You muttered.
âMe too.â He said honestly. You found comfort in the fact he cared enough about this interaction to be nervous about it. You went to run your hand through your hair but paused with you felt the coldness â it was still very wet from your shower.
âGoodâ You sighed out, voice almost a whisper. You didnât know why you were speaking so quietly, there was no one else in your house. There was no reason to be as quiet as you were.
âIs good that Iâm nervous?â Spencer asked, you could hear the teasing in his voice. It made your head spin and the words get caught as you shook your head, before remembering he couldnât see you.
âYes- No- no. No.â You muttered out, âIts uh- Its not good that your nervousâ I- Its just good that you careâ You scrambled out, stuttering over your words as you grew flustered. It made you want to turn into your pillow and scream.
You heard him laugh, making your face screw up. âShut up.â You muttered out as it didnât take a genius to figure out he was laughing at you scrambling over your words, your free hand came up to cover your face as your cheeks felt on fire.
âNo- Im sorry. Im sorry. Of course I care, you know I careâ He said softly as he collected his laughter, his voice dripping honesty for a moment as he spoke genuinely in a way that made your knees feel weak â Thank god you werenât standing. You were silent for a moment as a smile dawned on your face.
âTell me about your day.â He requested gently. You heard some more shuffling you could only assume he was getting comfortable in bed. You pictured it and it made your stomach burn with longing. Wishing it wasnât just an image in your head.
And you did, you told him about your day and he told you about yours; the conversation flowed simply and sweetly from then on. He teased you whenever you stuttered over your words, you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.
You and him spoke until your voice was quiet and drowsy with sleep, until your eyes were fluttering shut and you went unresponsive for a moment before he asked if you were asleep and you would wake up to the sound of his voice, muttering out a no, to which he would chuckle, and tell you to go to sleep.
When you fell asleep, he waited ten minutes to make sure you were really asleep before hanging up. His heart full as he fell asleep smiling.
Sorry I fell asleep. If i didnât throw you off completely and you still want to see me, im free any day after 6, when i finish work.
Spencer smiled at the message. The acceptance. You were accepting meeting him, seeing him. He couldnât fathom the idea of anything you doing ever throwing him off. You had wiggled your way into his chest months ago, and you stayed consuming every part of him everyday since. He didnât see that changing any day soon, or ever.
He sent you an address to a bar Derek suggested the team going to after work. He didnât know if maybe it was too forward, or might be awkward with his team there, but at least if it didnât go well there was people around.
He closed his phone as he waited for your reply, his mind replaying the conversation he had with you last night, how sweet you sounded, how your laugh made his heart clench, how whenever you said his name or spoke a little louder he felt light headed, unable to focus on anything but you.
There was anxiety in his stomach when he realised the two of you never quite talked about what it all meant. What the months of conversation back and forth was. He realised he didnât know what you wanted. What you expected.
Maybe you just saw him as a friend, maybe to you the conversation is nothing more than friendly. Honestly, if that was the case Spencer didnât think he would be able to deny you of that. He would do anything to keep you in his life, even if it caused a slight ache in his chest. He had told you things he couldnât imagine telling anyone else, he trusted you in a way he didnât know possible, and it may be stupid, maybe naive, but Spencer didnât care.
The way he felt for you took over any ounce of doubt in his mind, it overtook the insecurity welling in his mind, that maybe you wouldnât like him, not the way he liked you.
He had never felt so much for a person. He had never felt so much point blank. He could hardly fathom you feeling for him near the amount he felt for you.
Your hands traveled over your jeans softly as your palms grew sweaty as you stepped inside the bar. Thanking the guy you held it open for you as he walked out. You were instantly overwhelmed by the amount of people, the music playing and the people chatting. You probably should have gotten changed first instead of coming straight after work but you were too nervous and didnât want to give yourself time to dwindle in your insecurities then chicken out.
You manoeuvred your way through the people, quiet apologies leaving your lips as you looked around for Spencer, or anyone who looks like they might be an FBI agent.
What does an FBI agent look like? you thought, as you let out a sigh, finally getting out of the crowd of people as you got to the back of the bar, a lot more free of space. A few people around, standing at tables. You skimmed over for a moment as you tried to catch any glimpse of the boy that you could.
You heard your name, making you spin on your heels. You saw a dark haired girl smiling at you. Well that isnât spencer.
âYes?â You said, smiling at her as you tried to hide the anxiety building in your veins. Your hand coming to push hair off your face softly as you try to focus on the girl in front of you. She grins widely, âSpencer is over there, you looked like you were looking for someoneâŠâ She said, my smile instantly widened as you looked over to where she nudged her head.
your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes settled on him, the photo didnât do him justice in any way. His hair was messy and slightly grown out, he was engrossed in a conversation with who you could only assume was Derek Morgan, who Spencer had told you about. His tie was crooked in his suit as he lifted his arm to sip the drink in his hand.
you tear my eyes away as you look at the lady who is smiling at you. âHappy with that?â She asks. It takes you a moment to recognise her as Emily, whom Spencer had also told you about. You can hardly put it into words how your chest feels like its gonna explode as your heart thumps.
âHe is gorgeous.â You breathe out, shaking your head as words fail you, your eyes trail back to him for a moment to see him laughing, you see his head turn towards the door, as if he is waiting for you to walk through them.
Emily smiles, patting your shoulder softly, âCmon Mystery girlâ She said, you pay little attention to the nickname as she encourages you to walk towards the table with her. Your legs feel like Jelly with every step that you take, your stomach twisting in the familiar feeling of anxiety.
When she pauses at the table your breath hitches. âOi Reidâ She mutters, both he and Derek turns their head towards her, âLook who I foundâ She says softly, hand brushing over your shoulder.
Spencers eyes skip over to yours and you watch an emotion pull his features. An emotion you canât quite place and it makes your stomach ache at the uncertainty, insecurity creeping up the back of your neck.
âHiâ You breathe out as you look at him. Theres a moment of silence before he is pushing away from the table and walking around to you. His arms around you the moment you are in reach and it makes your muscles tense slightly before relaxing completely in his hold as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him back.
Emily and Derek watch in amusement for a moment, smiling when they see the look on Spencerâs face. The one you couldnât place the one they knew all too well.
He was in love.
He was in love before seeing you, he knew that but watching you stand there grinning at him made him all the more sure about it. His hand rested on your waist as he pulled back from the hug to look at your face.
âHiâ He whispered back.
You chewed at your lip at you bit back the wide smile that tried to force its way into your features. His hand traveled up to your face before he could stop it hand cupping your face gently.
You eased, leaning into his touch the warmth of his hand feeling gentle against the soft skin of your cheek. âY-You- I- Hi.â He stuttered this time.
You grinned, âCat got your tongue?â You ask, teasing him like he would every-time you stuttered over the phone. He just grins in response.
âNo. Youâre beautifulâ He said, eyes dancing over your face, he looked at you like he was trying to memories every little detail. Your stomach tightens and your knees felt weak as the compliment left his mouth. You had been told that before, but it felt different coming from him. He said it with honesty and sincerity.
âSo are youâ You said back before hugging him tightly again. He didnât complain at all, instead his arms fell tightly around your waist as he held you against him, as if he was scared that if he let go you would disappear.
The night went on, you stayed by spencerâs side, his hand on yours or around your shoulder gently as if he couldnât get enough of the feeling of you being next to him. You never complained â you took it all as a compliment and leant into his touch.
âAre you cold?â Spencer asked as you and him walked outside of the bar, hand in hand. he noticed the way you shivered as the cold hair hit the skin of your bare arms. You turn your head to look up at him, the look in his eye enough to make your chest clench around the fat of your heart.
âA littleâ You admit. It was nothing you couldnât handle, but spencer was instantly pulling off his suit jacket for you, slugging it gently over your shoulders as the two of you walked down the street. You paused in your steps as you looked up at him.
âThank you.â You say.
âIts okay- I donât want you to be coldâ He said softly. You couldnât help but smile at his kindness, but you shook your head. âFor that tooâ But I meant, for asking to see me. Thank you for thinking of me when you heard about where the case was â for talking to me everyday. Thank you for being my best friend Spenceâ You said softly as you lean against your car as you and him stop in front of it.
His lip twitches upwards into a smile as his hand drops yours instead resting softly on your lips. âI always think of you.â He admits, eyes on yours.
Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat. âSpencer.â You say softly.
He looks at you, really looks at you. He is seeing you. He is seeing every little thing you have told him over the last six months, every little detail about you there was to know, and all he could think about was he wanted more, he wanted to know you more.
âYeah?â He says, his voice a whisper.
You feel anxiety pool in your stomach as the question lingers on the tip of your tongue. There was a pull towards him you couldnât ignore, the same pull you felt when you received his email, six months, 2 weeks and 3 days ago. Youâd count the hours but you figured that was more his style.
âYou can say no, I want you to know thatâ You said, you wanted to make it perfectly clear that his response to this was completely up to him and you didnât want to feel pressured. âCan I kiss you?â You ask.
His lips are on yours before you can even finish the question. One hand of his travelling to the small of your back to bring you in closer while the other tangles in your hair, cradling the back of your neck. Your hands instantly cup his face as you press your lips against him. Your lips together saying more than words ever could.
This, right here, him, right now.
It was everything and more.
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