#Something something do I even want them to. Do I want them to stop believing that I could be more than this.

[reasonreblogs]

Same for both. The thing with explaining the reasons with an apology for me is part of the “I recognize how this action was wrong and how I ended up doing this thing that hurt you. I will be making an effort to stop this behavior. I hope you feel okay calling me out on it going forward. I want to assure you that I am aware of what I did, why I did it, that I am going to be working on it, that this hurt you, and that I’m sorry I did this.”

To me the reasons and why it happened shows that they understand and how likely they are to keep doing the same things or if thy ran it, that kind of thing. I’ve had someone who was basically overdosing on Xanax day spent the most horrible shit to me, hitting every insecurity I had about our friendship and after the fact *not* apologize and just said something like “I didn’t reply mean it, I just said crazy shit because I was prescribed a higher dose of Xanax than a person should be.”

Like… okay, I get that… and… it would mean something if you said “I’m sorry, I know it hurt you and I said a lot of things I knew would hurt most. I didn’t know I was prescribed higher dose than I should’ve been until recently and it really fucked with my head in a way that I wasn’t myself.” Instead, I wasn’t sure if she actually meant what she said looking back or if she’d do it again only without her mind being fucked up.

She gave the reason without the apology which made it an excuse and a “so you can’t be upset with anything I said” when she could scroll back and see exactly the things she said to me even if she didn’t quite remember. However, with an apology, I would be able to believe she didn’t mean it and was in a state of mind where she was actively looking to be as hurtful as possible rather than actually believing hat she said. It’s kind of like how some people go turn out to be suicidal try to make everyone around them hate them before going through with it under the notion it’d “hurt less” when it happens. I think of one or two popular youtubers who did exactly that, posting outrageous bigoted shit before disappearing and after hearing they killed themselves, it clicked that’s what they were doing.

As for the telling a story for how thy relate (as I did above actually lol) it’s like… “listen here’s a thing I went through… to me it sounds like what you’re going through, so I hope what I did to get through it helps or if talking to someone who might understand better makes you feel okay talking about this.”

It’s like… it adds some weight or legitimacy to what the person you’re talking to is saying for me. I’d be more likely to take their advice or reflect on how I handle or perceive it vs how they might have. When someone isn’t grasping at all what you’re saying, it turns into defending why you’re feeling and going through rather than being able to just… talk about it.

Idk, been thinking on the nuance of this for a while. I like reasons, I like getting an idea on if this will happen again or not. There’s just a lot of “depends on the person/situation” tho.

[clos-posts]

Okay so, hear me out:

I've been on a bit of a Merlin fanfic hyperfocuse and came across another "I'm Emrys" where Merlin has to perform magic for Arthur to believe him, in front of the entire round table council, and I had a thought.

So, we all know that Merlin is magic itself, spells that seemed powerful to other sorcerers are not that powerful to Merlin and my hc is that these spells barely make his eyes turn gold, like maybe a flicker so fast the average person will miss it.

So I imagine Merlin saying he's Emrys and Arthur being all 'well then prove it' and Merlin makes a fireball (cliche I know but bear with me). Now Arthur has seen this spell and though he has a merger knowledge of magic, knows that it's quite a powerful spell and that most sorcerers eyes are practically a blinding gold, but Merlins eyes don't change. That and Merlin doesn't even speak and therefore didn't cast a spell.

Arthur, thinking that some other sorcerer helped Merlin with his self-sacrificing, kind-hearted, not wanting anyone to die personality, appear as if Merlin is this 'Emrys' and in a patience but patronizing tone tells Merlin that's is honorable to try and protect this Emrys, but his eyes didn't even change colour and therefore can not be a sorcerer.

Merlin, in a very Merlin way, huffs and proceeds to say something like 'Well duh, that was a very simple spell. Doesn't even require that much magic to perform' and the entire room goes silent.

(meanwhile Guise blood pressure has skyrocketed and is on the verge of either killing Merlin himself or having a heart attack. He hasn't decided yet.)

Arthur, absolutely baffled (and a little turn on at the casual display of apparently immense power), asks: 'What will make your eyes gold then? If you even are a sorcerer?'

Merlin, never one to back down from a challenge and already too deep into this, shrugs and says 'We would need to be outside'

And that's how the whole council ends up on the training grounds opposite Merlin waiting in anticipation as to what he will do.

There's silence so thick that no one dares break until Merlin starts to chant. At first nothing happens and Arthur is relieved (and a little disappointed), but then clouds start to gather, think dark clouds above them, and Merlin starts to get louder. Thunder claps across the sky and there electricity in the air making Arthur's hair stand on end and a shiver works its way down his spine. He looks at Merlin and though it's subtle at first, his eyes are glowing gold.

The tension builds and builds and with one final shout from Merlin, his eyes, a brilliant gold, as lightning falls all around him, clashing to the ground destroying the train field in its wake.

Arthur can do nothing but stare. Breath caught, heart hammer, and a sudden hot arousal catching him off guard. He can do nothing but stare at Merlin, his loyal manservant, standing amidst the lighting with his head thrown back and a look of contentment on his face, as if performing magic of this magnitude is comfortable, relaxing, an everyday occurrence.

When Merlins eyes meet Arthur's, there's a, small, sad smile on his lips, and then quicker then it had started the lightning stops and the clouds disappear, and the only thing that can be heard is the birds beginning to sing again.

Arthur can't think of anything to say and stupidly say 'you destroyed the training grounds'. Merlin at this point blushes, stammers out an apology before waving his hand with a few muttered words and the training field is in perfect condition once again.

Arthur and the entire council are baffled.

Then, before anyone could say anything, Arthur blurts out a command for Merlin to go to Arthur's chambers and he does. Without question. Just a shrug, and walks off. Arthur is wheeling. This powerful sorcerer, who just showed them a feat that no mortal man will ever replicate just listens to his command with nothing but a shrug!

Anyway, once Arthur has calmed the council somewhat he makes his way to his chambers. Once he enters Merlin is speaking so fast it's hard to keep up, something about coins, destiny and then shockingly how Arthur is the only person that can kill him if he uses Excalibur. What. The. Fuck.

Arthur: I'm not going to kill you Merlin!! Why would I kill you?!?

Merlin: Well, I mean, umm, I'm a sorcerer? Emery's? The strongest warlock to ever walk the Earth?

Arthur: I'm not going to kill you Merlin. However! If you do not take me to bed and absolutely ravish me in the next 10 minutes, I may have to resort to drastic measures!

Merlin, absolutely gobsmacked, face red: Wh- what measures..?

Arthur, absolutely confident, turned on beyond belief, practically gagging for it: I'll start begging.

And before he knows it Merlin pounces, and the rest is history.

That was not meant to be as long as it was... 😂

BUT!! If someone who writes fics could take this and write a fully fleshed version on this and then tag me in it I would be forever grateful. ADHD and dyslexia does not make a good writer for me unfortunately 🥲🥲🥲

OH! One last thing! I have a hc that cold iron had a natural negative field which repels energy which is why those that have learned magic have it cut off when chained in cold iron. They can't draw upon their magic from the energy around them. However, with Merlin being magic it's a little different for him.

So, I had this image of a knight, without prompting thinking he's doing what the king would want, walks up to Merlin at some point during his light show and slaps cold iron shackles on him. But, instead of the magic stopping, Merlins eyes grow brighter and bright, and the shackles start to shake and groan, because whilst cold iron does repel energy, it's a little hard to do that from both sides and can't take the pressure. At some point the shackles start to glow as the negative properties of the iron are being overwhelmed and forced into itself. Merlin looks down, looks back at the now terrified knight and says: You should probably duck. And no soon has the knight hit the ground the shackles explode, for lack of a better word. No harm done to Merlin tho.

[buckevantommy]

Everyone's always telling Buck what he should do. Okay, sometimes he did ask for their advice, but every piece of advice he's followed through on lately has ended badly and everything they tell him to do he doesn't actually want to do.

He should want to do something if it's supposed to make him feel better, if it's supposed to be better for him, right?

Josh told him to bulldoze ahead and tell Tommy what he wanted. Tommy told him to re-enact his Buck 1.0 days and spend time with some indeterminate amount of people until he finds someone forever. Maddie and Chim told him to start dating again and also wait for the universe to bring him someone special; another someone. Hen and Eddie told him not to contact Tommy.

He doesn't want to do any of that! He wants to talk to Tommy, to see him, to get Tommy to talk to him instead of giving up on them and running away because he's scared. He wants to tell Tommy he loves him. He wants Tommy to know first and last aren't mutually exclusive. He wants to yell at Tommy, and kiss him, and hold him. He wants Tommy to apologise for breaking his heart and for being a dumbass. He wants Tommy to believe him when he says he won't do the same; well, he might be a dumbass sometimes - but he would never break Tommy’s heart. He wants to apologise for jumping ahead but also not have to apologise for wanting a life with Tommy or for being too much.

Since that first night Tommy kissed him, he's felt reborn. Not in some starry-eyed way that Tommy seems to think is fake and won't last, but in the way that he's shed the skin of past Buck upgrades and finally grown into his body, become comfortable in who he is instead of trying to fit a facade that other people would accept. Always too big, too much, not enough, never content to just sit in his self and be without his worries and insecurities moulding him into something else, something with a better chance of getting people to like him, love him, stay with him. 

He’s never felt more himself or more at ease in a relationship that meant something to him than he did with Tommy. Never felt more wholly seen - the good, the bad, and the too-much and not enough - by his partner and adored anyway, wanted anyway.

Halfway through making swiss meringue buttercream instead of breakfast, he realises he's thinking about Tommy. His coping skill, as Bobby called it, has stopped working.

There's butter and sugar in the creases of his hands and nailbeds even after he hurriedly wipes them with the dishcloth over his shoulder. He can see it as he scoops up his phone from the charger and thumbs over to his message thread with Tommy, leaving greasy crumby residue on the screen.

i saw you bubbling

After it happened, after the Chief distracted everyone enough for him to grab his phone and retreat somewhere he wouldn't be disturbed, he'd stared at the space where the unsent message had appeared for twenty minutes waiting for the type bubble to reappear. Waiting for Tommy to hit send on whatever he'd backtyped.

Buck's mind had spiralled with all the possibilities and while it spiralled and he stared and waited he never got around to actually calling or texting Tommy himself. And then the bell rang.

He has time, now. He has things he wants to say.

you were going to tell me something an maybe i wont like what it was but just knowing you almost reached out is kinda driving me crazy bc i have a fridge full of baked goods bc everytime i think about calling you i bake and now i havnt cooked a proper meal in my own place in over a week bc i dont have room in my damn fridge to store anything besides chocholate chip bananan bread and baked alaskas

He wants to say: and it's all your fault! but that's not the whole truth. Buck played his part in this, set the wheels in motion that drove Tommy away from him. But how the hell was he supposed to know that? And Tommy should've known by now he doesn't really do 'slow'.

i'm not sorry for being too much bc i shouldnt haveto apologize for being myself

Screw it. Can't get any worse, right? Tommy's getting all of him whether he likes it or not.

i dont see you as some queer life coach or someone to fill space until someon else comes along

thats not who i am

i thought you knew me better than that but whatevr ig

i wanted to live with you bc i want a life with you bc i love you

i love you

i shouldve said that first

Send after send, typing like a man possessed, he gets out everything that's been pent up inside him since the shock wore off a week ago.

His chest is heaving as the adrenaline rushes through his veins. And his eyes sting. He has to blink away tears as he reads over the last message.

He never told Tommy. Tommy doesn't know. Maybe Buck wasn't sure that night Josh asked him, but he knows it now.

i wanted you to be my last

He still does.

i wanna hate you for giving up on us

but i cant seem to hate you

This whole thing would hurt a lot less if he could just hate Tommy for what he did. It would hurt a lot less if they could find a way through this mess, together, and come out the other side stronger because they know each other better and know they want to fight for what they have.

Real love is worth fighting for. Red taught him that. Real love isn’t found, it’s made. Old gay Thomas taught him that.

Well, Buck found Tommy. Or, the universe did. And he’s going to fight, dammit, because he wants to build a future with Tommy. 

His vision has blurred with hot tears. Movement on his screen catches his attention from where his gaze had drifted over to the couch where Tommy had stayed to take care of him through his Billy Boils saga.

Tommy is bubbling him.

Buck’s heart lurches in his chest. His breath catches.

can we talk?

There’s a huff of something like manic laughter as he swipes at his snotty nose.

that’s what i typed

Hope blooms in his chest, sudden and bright and painful in the best way.  

can we?

I think I owe it to you to yell at me in person

There’s a long moment where Buck tries to return his breathing to normal but its bated as he watches three little dots appear, then disappear. 

Then reappear. 

Then disappear.

Then:

I don’t want to give up on us either

Buck’s tears are still making his vision watery, but now they’re tears of joy. He did what he wanted to do - he reached out. And Tommy heard him.

He should take his own advice more often.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Shy One

Inspired by this post; in the same universe as this and this

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: a night out ends in an embarrassing encounter.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It feels like you’re seeing the world through tinted glass. The low lights, the buzz of voices, and the subtle clink of glasses feed the haze around you. That and the cocktail in your hand. Just ice now. Your second. You’re surprised how easily it went down. 

“Want another?” Mikayla asks as you play with the thin straw. 

“Maybe not yet,” you shrug. 

She grins at Alina, “lightweight?” 

The other women laugh. You’re too embarrassed to admit it but you are. In fact, it’s the first time you’ve ever tasted alcohol. If they don’t mock you for confessing, they wouldn’t believe you. 

“So happy you came out,” Katy grins. 

“Yeah, too bad you didn’t make the work mixer last month,” Lu says. 

“Hm, yeah, I just... I couldn’t make it,” you chew your lip. 

“Mmm, Mik,” Katy purrs, “you seeing what I’m seeing?” 

Katy tilts her head and Mikayla follows her gaze. Alina and Lu do the same and you dare to peek after them. There’s a table of men across the bar. There timbre forms a dulcet drone amid the din. 

“Sexy, look at that beard.” Alina slithers 

“Which one?” Lu giggles. 

You shift and look down at your glass. You wrap both your hands around it and squirm. They said it was just work drinks. You don’t want to be dealing with strangers. 

“Oh, honey, loosen up,” Alina grabs your starched collar and pops the top button. “You have another one of those and you’ll be dancing on the table.” 

“Um,” you lean away from her, “maybe. Erm, I need to go to the restroom.” 

“Boo, too early to break the seal,” Katy whines. 

“Sorry,” you apologise and stand. 

You take your glass with you and as you turn, you stop short as your eyes meet another pair. One of the men from the crowded table catches you in his gaze. You gulp and quickly lower your chin. You hurry on to the bar and set your empty glass on it. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“Oh, thanks,” the man behind it swipes it away. “The waitress coulda grabbed that.” 

“Oh, now worries,” you show a palm and turn to find the restroom. 

You head down the hallway behind the bright blue sign. You dip into the ladies and claim a stall. As nice as it is to release the pressure, it’s even nicer to get a breather. You’re not the bar type. Not a drinker or a dancer, as much as Alina keeps suggesting it. You’re a total square. Thirty years old and you’ve never done anything more fun than laser tag. 

You wash your hands and leave the bathroom reluctantly. The music seems louder as you come out, the voices too. As you enter the barroom, you slow down. You’re mortified to find Alina and Katy in the open space, dancing. Grinding against each other. 

You stand there, frozen and embarrassed. The other women at the table cheer them on lewdly. You don’t know what to do. Sitting with Lu and Mikayla would draw as much attention as joining the dancing. This doesn’t seem like the place for that. 

Maybe it’s time for you to go. You’re feeling a bit cloudy and your eyes are fuzzy. You’ve been up since five in the morning. 

You slowly cross the space but have to dodge as Alina spins out and nearly crashes into you. In an effort to avoid her, you hit the side of a table, bouncing off of it and staggering until you fall onto something soft. Thank gosh you managed to find a seat in your descent. 

“Mmph,” the grunt greets you with the firm cushion beneath you, “y’alright, doll?” 

You look over in horror at the man who’s lap you sit upon. How embarrassing!! You look around at the other men at the table as it dawns on you. This is the worst crash landing you can imagine. 

You gasp and peer back at the man who serves as your chair. He’s terrifyingly handsome. His eyes are so blue and his jaw is chiseled beneath his dark beard. His brown hair curtains down around his cheekbones and his cheek dimples in amusement. 

“I’m so sorry,” you wriggle against him as he spreads his large hand across your back. “I tripped. I didn’t man to—oh gosh.” 

You touch your scalding forehead and try to shimmy out of his lap. It’s useless as you can’t get much of a stronghold. You just manage to ground your butt down on him. 

“You okay there?” He runs his fingertips up your spine and sends a shiver through you. 

“I’m--- sorry!” You gulp out again. “Please, I’m--” you grab the corner of the table and manage to haul yourself up. “I’m so...” you shake your head and bluster. You’re burning in humiliation. You can feel the other men watching you. “Ugh.” 

You turn and scurry around Alina and Katy. You quickly gather up your purse and coat as the women at the table laugh. “Oh, honey, why don’t you give him a nice ride,” Lu teases. 

You blanch at her and makes a face, “I didn’t mean to--” 

“Oh, chill,” Mikayla chides. “Really, it was funny. Where are you going?” 

“Home,” you exclaim. “Stop laughing at me. You’ve been laughing at me all night.” 

Lu scoffs, “well, you’re a bit silly, aren’t you? Act like you’ve never touched a man or a drink before.” 

You frown and flutter your lashes against the singe of hot tears. This is why you always say no. Why you are always ‘busy’. You don’t fit in. You’re better off alone. 

You hug your coat and bag and hurry across the bar. You push through the door and stagger out into the night with a sniffle. Oh joy, work is going to be even worse. Now they’re going to sit around and cackle at you instead of Wendy and her tacky dresses. 

You look around, searching for your bearings. You need to find a cab and get out of here. You see once coming down the pavement. You shift your things into one arm and throw your other up. The taxi steers towards the sidewalk but picks up another pedestrian further down. 

You huff and crane in search of another escape. 

“Hey, doll,” a rocky voice calls over the hinges of the bar door. “Where’re you off to?” You continue to peer down the street, frightened as you feel a gentle nudge on your elbow, “hey, talking to you. You didn’t even give me a name after you sat right on me.” 

You flinch and reel away from him, “huh? What? Oh, I’m sorry. That was just... clumsy.” 

“Ah, it’s fine. Really. It was funny,” he assures you. “I’m not making fun of you. Just, a pretty girl falls right in my lap then runs away, I kinda gotta wonder...” 

“Umph?” You furrow your brow, “you’re making fun of me too.” 

“Why would I do that?” He tilts his head. “Come back inside. Let me by you a drink.” You shake your head and wave your hand past him at another yellow cab. He chuckles softly, “you don’t gotta be shy.” 

“I don’t know you,” you insist. 

“I’m tryna fix that,” he counters. 

“Really, I just wanna go home,” you whine as the taxi drives by without stop. 

“Right, let’s do that,” he turns and throws his hand up. He whistles and wiggles his fingers. A cab rolls right up to him. “Let’s go.” 

He opens the back door and stands back. You stare at it. 

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. You get in, ducking through the door, greeting the driver with a polite, “hello.” 

Yet the door doesn’t close. Instead, you’re urged further inside by the man as he sits on the seat next to you. You slide over as he pulls the door shut behind him. 

“Tell him where we’re going, doll,” he commands. 

You look at him, then the driver. You’re too stunned to think. What is he doing? You give your address and curl your shoulders as you shrink down. 

“Now,” the man stretches his arm across the seat, “we got the whole ride to get to know each other,” he offers his other hand, “I’m Bucky, I hear I make a pretty comfy seat.” 

You can’t help half a smile. You reach and shake his hand. You suppose he did help you out and he doesn’t seem angry about your unceremonious fall. You give him your name. 

“Thanks,” you say again. 

“Thanks? Oh doll, what kinda fool wouldn’t help a girl like you?” 

[hacash]

and in total agreement with everything OP says, it's also worth remembering that feminism wears different faces! the movement has different flavours and different men across the USA will have different experiences and perspectives of it

so yeah, you're right, something like 'dude that casual sexism isn't cool: you've got to stop treating women like disposable sex objects and realise that these people are your equals' is not a statement that should push any reasonable man towards violent misogyny. that is not an example of 'the feminists being mean' that can excuse alt-right misogyny under any sane perspective.

but 'you're an abhorrent waste of space who neds to be castrated, violently, and then left on a barren wasteland to die and nothing you ever do will ever free you of the original sin of being a Man' is...well, I still don't think men should step towards violent misogyny, but shit like that certainly doesn't help. I can see how encountering some of the viler branches of radfems could certainly make men less interested in learning more about feminism overall.

and I'm not even saying that this is the mainstream version of feminism that most men encounter, but just looking through tumblr for more than five minutes will show you it's more common than it should be. and more men are running into it and believing that 'oh fuck, that's feminism, everything Joe Rogan said was right, they do hate me' than they should - and that kind of vitriol is the sort of shit that sticks in the mind.

like, Trump and Rogan and all of those morons are already saying that the feminist world order has no place for any man in it; do you really want to be doing their fucking job for them?

no-one's saying you have to Coddle The Men and excuse all shitty behaviour and apologise for existing or whatever: there is clearly a bit of nuance and fucking middle ground to be had here. they're just saying that maybe, possibly, dialling the radfem up to eleven and then expecting someone to haul themselves out of the alt-right pipeline might just not be the most practical approach in the world.

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[7ndipity]

“Just Breathe”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You're nervous about meeting Yoongi's parents for the first time

Warnings: angst/comfort, brief mentions of toxic family life, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @vicky-chaos for this request! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The late afternoon sun warmed your back as you walked down the street hand in hand with Yoongi, the familiar hum of street noise around you a welcome soundtrack that you hoped would distract from the anxious thoughts that had been filtering through your mind all day.

Normally you loved going on errand runs like these with Yoongi, finding comfort in the mundane routine, but today you had found yourself unable to relax fully and enjoy yourself, even now fidgeting with the handles of the shopping bags in your free hand.

Yoongi’s parents were coming to visit for the weekend, and he had asked if you wanted to help him cook dinner on the first night so that you could meet them. You had been touched that he wanted to introduce you to them at all and had agreed to the plan eagerly enough at first, but inside, there had been a growing tinge of “what if?”.

If this evening didn’t go well, you worried how it would affect you and Yoongi’s relationship going forward.

Yoongi had noticed your growing nerves and had tried to reassure you that things would be fine, even giving you a crash course on his parents' personalities and interests to help make you feel more confident and give you something to talk to them about.

“-And Dad likes reading, so just keep conversation focused around that if you can’t think of anything else.” He finished as you were headed back towards where he had parked the car.

“Right…” You replied distantly, chewing on your lip.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He assured you, squeezing your hand gently.

You nodded, but you couldn’t stop your heart still anxiously skittering around your ribcage, seeking out escape.

“Hey,” His tone was much softer now, drawing your attention back to him with a gentle touch on your cheek, letting his fingers just brush over your skin in the same way that he did as you fell asleep at night. “Just breathe, okay? Everything will be fine. They’re gonna love you.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment.

“What if they don’t?” Your asked quietly, breaking his heart at how small you sounded.

He knew his parents weren’t the easiest to get along with, especially his father, but he had faith that they would see what a beautiful and remarkable person you were. He couldn’t imagine anyone meeting you and not immediately falling for your warm heart and infectious personality.

But no matter how many times Yoongi tried to encourage and reassure you, your anxieties over what could possibly go wrong persisted.

He knew your fears weren’t entirely unfounded; it was no secret to him that the relationship between you and your own parents was difficult to say the least, leaving you with more than a few emotional scars that you were slowly trying to heal. But he was not so secretly hoping that this might be the start of a better relationship with parental figures for you, that you might start to view his family as your own. He just needed you to believe.

“If they don’t like you, then that’s their problem and they’ll have to get over it.” He told you matter-of-factly.

“Yoongi-” You started, but he stopped you.

“I mean it, if they know me and care about me at all, then they’ll make the effort to get along with the person I love.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his in shock, making him realize his accidental admission.

“You love me?” You asked.

“Yeah, of course I do.” He said, trying to ignore the creeping redness that he could feel coloring his face.

“It’s just-, you’ve never said that before.” You pointed out, still staring at him.

“I’ve felt it for a while, I’d just been trying to find the right time to say something.” He replied quietly, suddenly finding the pavement very interesting as he scratched at the back of his neck self-consciously. “And it’s no big deal, you don’t have to say anything ba-”

“I love you too.” You cut him off.

His head snapped back up, his dark eyes filled with cautious hope.

“Really?” 

You nodded. “I always have.”

Before you could blink, Yoongi closed the gap between you, crushing you to his chest in a hug that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

“I love you.” He mumbled into your hair. “I love you so fucking much, and nothing anyone says can ever change that. Not my parents, not anyone.”

Your eyes stung at his words, trying to fight back the sudden wave of emotions that threatened to overtake you.

“I love you too.” You managed, blinking away the wetness in your eyes.

It was moments like this that reminded you of just how thankful you were to have Yoongi in your life, always willing to make room for you, to protect you, to fight for you.

After a long moment, he pulled away enough to meet your eye again.

“We got this, yeah?” He asked. “We’ll be okay.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile creeping across your face for the first time today.

“Lets go home.” He said, catching your hand in his again and giving it a slight squeeze.

The two of you walked on together in comfortable silence, savoring the feel of the shared warmth of your joined hands, keeping away the autumn chill that tried to chill your fingers.

Everything would be okay. So long as you had each other to hold onto, you could face anything.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[lu-is-not-ok]

A Narcissistic reading of Hong Lu

Yup, I'm actually doing this.

To lay down some facts first: I have NPD, alongside a bunch of other things that coalesce into a nuclear concoction strong enough to kill every dark empath in a five mile radius. If I find you ableisting it up, I give myself the permission to smite you. This is a threat and a warning.

Now, let's talk about Hong Lu. Because as it turns out, he might just be the most difficult literacy check in Limbus Company according to what I've seen.

I could just say "I'm a narcissist and Hong Lu is just like me fr fr so he's a narcissist too" and end the post, but honestly, where's the fun in that? There are, legitimately, things I want to yap about, so I'm going to yap about them, and no chucklefucks can stop me.

So, to start this off, let's make one thing clear.

Hong Lu is not only a good actor, but also a skilled liar. The way he navigates conversations and the methods he uses are just as important to analyze as the actual words he says, if not more so. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that trying to understand him based Only on what he says and not how he uses the things he says would result in an understanding that's not only incomplete, but potentially outright wrong.

Now, this isn't really tied to why I think Hong Lu could be very reasonably read as having NPD, at least not directly. Narcissists aren't inherently evil liar manipulators, and if that's what you take away from this post, that's more of a you problem (and you can go ahead and block me considering I'm one of the evil liar manipulator narcissists according to you).

However, there is a reason why I have to bring it up. And it's because almost all of Hong Lu's narcissistic traits become a lot more obvious once you look at the exact ways he takes control of conversations.

With that out of the way, what exactly are we even looking for?

NPD, in my experience, primarily affects one's sense of self-worth and self-esteem. I personally found that the analogy of a pendulum makes the most sense to me - a narcissist's sense of self-worth can swing between massive highs and massive lows, almost never staying in a middle "balanced" position, with even the tiniest things being able to throw it to one side or another.

The ways this can present outwardly are. Quite frankly, way too fucking many to count. But there are some common threads we can keep in mind:

High sensitivity to criticism

Need for an external source of validation

Tendency to seek out ways to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful

So, does Hong Lu fit those criteria?

Well. Yeah. This post wouldn't exist if he didn't.

Let's talk about the first point, high sensitivity to criticism. And, immediately, I would like everyone to remember Hell's Chicken, specifically the scene where Meursault begins to verbally roast his team's dish, and in the process laying down a verbal smackdown on everyone involved. That scene ended like this.

Curious, isn't it? The moment Meursault was about to start criticising Hong Lu, he just jumps in and distracts Meursault with a change of topic - something even Dante's narration points out.

Mind you, this isn't an isolated event. This is just the most obvious example of Hong Lu exhibiting this kind of behavior.

Don't believe me? Just look at these.

These are all examples of Hong Lu either backpedaling, changing the subject, or otherwise trying to avoid the acknowledgement of something that criticizes his status, thought process, or (in the last example) which would reveal an emotional vulnerability.

This is a fairly consistent pattern for him, and that's not even getting into the fact that the line he says when hovering over him before a skill check he has a Very Low chance at succeeding in has him suddenly try to excuse himself and leave.

Hong Lu is absolutely highly sensitive to criticism, it's just that his primary emotional reactions aren't ones we're privy to. Instead, what we get to see is how he acts to try and minimize the impact of those criticisms, if not outright find ways to never let them leave someone's mouth in the first place.

Next up - need for external validation.

This one doesn't have as many examples as the previous point, as Hong Lu is a generally closed off person who keeps a certain level of distance from most other Sinners. However, that doesn't mean I don't have any.

One such example comes from Canto 4, where soon after acting out his part in the play, Hong Lu seeks validation from Yi Sang.

Then there's this moment in Canto 6, where Hong Lu, once again, seeks validation for something he's done.

And then there's also these lines from Hong Lu's various Identities.

Aaaand then there's these base Identity voice lines, which, if you ask me, feel a bit like fishing for compliments.

This point is a lot harder to say is a definitive one, mainly due to Hong Lu's more closed off projected personality. That being said, the fact that one can find examples of it despite that is pretty notable.

And for the final one - trying to make oneself feel more special, important, or powerful.

This is one that's a bit harder to provide exact examples for, as again, Hong Lu isn't someone who talks about how he feels often, and when he does it's not always exactly trustworthy. He's not like Rodya, who while still putting on a facade, is pretty open and easy to read about how she actually feels.

But, there's still some non-mutually exclusive interpretations I want to posit here. Two, in fact.

One - I believe that for Hong Lu, the thing he sees as power is control.

See, avoiding criticism isn't the only time Hong Lu steers conversations. In fact, it's something he does All The Time. He's often the one asking questions to get the group moving, trying to gather information that might be relevant to him, and generally taking over the direction a conversation is going in. Chances are, if Hong Lu speaks up, it's likely to alter the conversation he joins in noticeable ways.

This, I think, is one of the ways Hong Lu makes himself feel more powerful. After all, it's not that hard to guess from what little bits of his background we have that Hong Lu lacked agency for most of his life. So, wouldn't it make sense for him that having that agency, that being able to be socially in control, would be the exact kind of thing that would boost his self-esteem?

In fact, the only times we see him rendered completely speechless, seemingly stripped of that confidence in conversations he usually exhibits, are in Canto 7 - specifically in scenes where he's Not In Control of what the others are talking about. Those scenes being when the other Sinners start shit-talking Xichun in front of him, and when Xichun actively tries to bother Hong Lu by alluding to the way he's been treated back at home.

Extremely confident until something external happens that utterly strips him of that confidence... sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Then, there's the second interpretation.

See, with NPD, there are two ways a narcissist can try to make themself feel more deserving of attention. One is the one most probably think of when they think about narcissists - setting out to fulfill extremely high goals to feel amazing when one reached them and then feeling utterly crushed in the case one doesn't. This would be someone like Rodya.

However, there is also another way, one which I personally have much more experience with - to undersell. To set extremely low expectations, so that it's as hard as possible to fail reaching them, and to feel way better upon surpassing them than one would with higher, more "regular" expectations.

This, to me, is exactly the kind of narcissist Hong Lu is. Think about it. He's constantly putting out this image of an extremely sheltered person that barely understands the outside world, with notable moments where it's made clear he's Just Making Shit Up at points. Wouldn't making one seem unable to do anything, only to then proceed to do things you've led people to not expect of you, make it feel like you're much more exceptional than you really are?

The underselling goes the other way too. When the other Sinners point out something odd about Hong Lu in a more positive way, he's often quick to point out how it's Nothing compared to what his Family expected of him. Wouldn't that make one feel exceptional, to make it seem like whatever effort you're putting in to do well is but a fraction of what else you can do? That you don't even have to try to be able to be special?

...So, there. That's all the analysis and interpretation I find important to do to get my point across.

Just to make it clear, I don't think that the only thing wrong with Hong Lu is the narcissism. There's definitely a lot more shit going on in that head of his. But, I'll be honest, the NPD reading felt so obvious to me that it genuinely took me by surprise that other people don't see it.

Though... maybe I shouldn't be shocked. Some fuckers out there still think Faust is a narcissist when she's literally just autistic.

[festering-obsession]

CW: emmrich smut, fluff, gender neutral pronouns, afab genitalia, implied age gap, reader is rook but no name is mentioned

It's evening at the lighthouse, the sunlight leaving its last embrace onto the world as it filters into Emmrich's room. You gaze upwards towards his spiral stairs, barely able to catch a glimpse of the soft glow.

But, the sun is nothing compared to how he has you in his lap. Nothing compares to him, it feels like. Thankfully, Manfred was busy exploring around, messing with Assan or following Neve, giving you much needed alone time with his "father" of sorts.

He presses kisses onto your neck, your back against his chest. His ringed fingers glide down your clothes, slowly undoing them. You feel your breath quicken, rubbing your legs together. It had been a while since you last had intimacy with him.

"My dear, you've been so stressed as of late..." He says slow, you can feel his mustache tickle your neck. "Let me take care of you? Hm?"

You nod eagerly, feeling a hand dip down under your waistband. His fingers gliding over your folds. His other hand, cold against your warmth, trails into your inner thigh.

"Don't, don't leave me hanging..." You breathe out as his hand explores, your body reacting to his touch.

"And do what exactly?" He asks with a smirk, kissing your shoulder. "Use your words, my dear."

You grip his pants, shuddering. "Please just fuck me, alright? I need your fingers, please."

"Such a crude way of asking, but, I don't think I could ever deny you." And you finally feel his fingers begin to move again, slowly against your lips.

He's always cold, not surprising given his work. But, your body always warms him up, something he loves about you.

His hands find a way to your clit, throbbing with need, begging for his touch. His fingers rubbing against the bud as your grip on his pants tighten, words falling out your mouth.

"Please, don't stop..." You hiss out as his fingers continue, working and winding you up. His fingers finally press in, working their way into your walls, pumping in and out with a slow, steady rhythm.

"Tell me if it's ever too much, darling." He whispers as his kisses against your neck, trailing down to your shoulders.

You nod, eyes shut in pleasure as he continues, his fingers curling and spreading you open, in all the right places. Your legs shake as he continues thrusting his fingers. His other hand rests against your midsection securely, drawing circles against your skin.

You moan out his name faster, clenching down as you feel yourself close. You feel him speeding up his pace, his fingers curling into that spot that makes you lose control.

It's not long before you come around his fingers, pressing your back further into his chest as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers finally leave you, slick and sticky.

You whine as he leaves you, feeling emptier by the second. But it's not long before you realize what was pressing hard against your back.

"Emmrich... Let me help.." You whisper, bare chest heaving.

"You've done so much today, I wanted this to be about you." He denies earnestly as you turn around his lap, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. You kiss him quickly as you grind down on his lap, his hands resting on your hips.

"Let me take care of you, Emmrich. Besides, if I don't, I think I'll lose my mind." You laugh against his lips.

You slowly rise up from his lap before sitting down on his desk, folding your legs neatly and tilting your head to the side.

"Come on...." You giggle as his face turns red, but you can see how his eyes travel your form.

"I believe you'll be the death of me one day." He finally says as his rises from the seat approaching you on his desk, leaning over you as his arms plant themselves down on both of your sides. You grab his vest and pull him down to you, kissing him again eagerly.

His hands slide down your hips and to the inner of your thighs, parting them from eachother. You gasp against his lips before he closes the gap again, kissing you deeply.

His hand works you up again, exploring the outer of your lips, tentatively adding a finger inside preparing you. He curls it inside once more, before sloppily rubbing your slick over your folds. You hear him unzip his pants as his lips explore your neck, leaning your head to the side.

"Are you sure?" He whispers against your neck.

"Yes, Emmrich... I'm always ready for you." You affirm again as you look up into his eyes, laying down onto the wide expanse of his desk.

You feel the head of his cock enter, before slowly pushing in fully, his grip tight on your hips as he guides himself further in.

"You're always so warm... wrapped around my cock.." He groans out. "You're always so good for me, aren't you?" He whispers out as he bottoms out.

You grip the edges of the desk, desperate for anything to help secure you as you begin to feel him thrust in and out of you, slowly, deeply, giving you a chance to adjust to his length. You feel him move against your walls, stretching you out deliciously so as his other hand ghosted down to your clit, rubbing and touching it. Times like this made you so glad he knew anatomy, and how to abuse that knowledge.

"Fuck, keep going, please.." You say, legs shaking as they wrap around his waist. His other hand stays steady on your hip as he thrusts faster, matching your increased need as the desk begins to shake, paper and books falling off the sides.

"You like how I make you feel?" He says, voice smooth and velvety. "Only I get to make you feel like this, don't I, dear?"

You're unable to form words. Only moans fall out of your mouth as a response, which only brings a smile to his face. His hand dug so tight onto your hip it would probably form a bruise, not that you would mind.

You can only hear his hushed moans along with yours as his thrusts echo throughout your body. His disheveled appearance, proud of the fact you made him like that.

Your hands grip tighter onto the desk as his pace fastens, both his hips and his diligent fingers. His thrusts grow sloppier and faster as he chases to fulfill both of your needs.

His fingers tease and rub your clit faster as his hips meet yours eagerly, each thrust bringing you closer your mind-numbing peak.

"You know how devoted I am to you, my dear..." He says as he continues to ram inside of you. "If I could, I'd worship your body everyday."

You nod numbly, already lost on the brink of your orgasm, still sensitive from the first one. And then, it finally snaps as your back arches, crying his name. He follows soon enough, his warmth spilling inside of you.

As you lean up, he wraps his arms around your waist to steady you. "Dear, are you alright?" He whispers.

"Fucking amazing.." You whisper as you lean against his chest, barely able to slip your shirt back on. "We should let Manfred play with Assan a lot more if it means I get to see this side of you."

"As charming as the griffon is, his talons near Manfred make me nervous." Emmrich replies, his tone still light.

"I'm sleeping with you tonight. In your bed, I mean. Not that I'd particularly mind going again, but I plan on my legs not being sore for tomorrow." You nod at him, smirking.

"You keep me young." He chuckles as he draws you into his arms, hands gliding over yours comfortingly. "How did I get so lucky?"

"You mean how did I get so lucky?" You reply back, fully leaning into his touch.

He flusters, a welcome sight from his usual proper appearance. "Let's get cleaned up, shall we?"

...

A/N: LETS SEXUALISE THAT OLD MAN!!!

[thedoritodealerofthewoods]

OooHOOOHOO

Man

Copy pasting my thoughts from my ramble at the friend who showed this post to me because I'm satisfied with the way I put them. Spoiler warning for wof arc 1 below

How does this work? Does she know the prophecy is fake from the moment Morrowseer visits the cave to observe the dragonets? Maybe he wasn’t thinking about it well enough for her to realize he doesn’t believe the prophecy - “hmmm…. This one isn’t good enough. This one will work better. This one will accomplish the need very effectively-” could all be interpreted as someone who doesn’t trust in fate to do it’s own work. Maybe this annoys her, but the truth doesn’t register.

Or does she deny obvious “lol this thing isn’t real” thoughts with the certainty that he’s wrong. And maybe she hates him because of it right off the bat - though she might not tell the others exactly why beyond a potential cryptic “he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about!” To which she gets the average response of “lol alright Sunny. Anyway I want to punt him into the sky because he hates Glory” - !!! Right - iirc, Morrowseer tells the guardians to kill her, but to the side where the dod don’t hear him. (Can’t check atm cause cat on lap). Maybe Sunny gets all bolt-upright-shock at a certain point and starts frantically trying to convince everyone that Glory is in danger the second he leaves, before anything is overheard. They maybe think she’s overreacting, that of course he hates me Sunny I’m a rainwing and yeah but they wouldn’t go that far haha - but eventually the conversation is overheard and they all realize the truth and the escape kicks off (with the difference of Sunny being in on it this time - unless they maybe still think she might accidentally let something slip).

Also - the moment in the tunnel with Morrowseer fits a little too well to change at all. He opens his mouth to gloat, to tell them all the truth, and no, no, no! She’s pleading for him to stop before he speaks a word because she knows, she knows, and maybe she always has, maybe she should have seen it sooner but it’s the only hope the others have, the only reason they’re still trying and she can’t let them lose it. She can’t lose it. She can’t lose them.

Oh! Also - does she tell the rest of the dod? Probably not, I’d guess. Starflight would be crushed. As far as they all know till the last book, she’s just a weird SandWing. Not only did Starflight fail to have any powers, but she got both. Maybe she tried to tell them before it occurred to her that it might hurt him, but no one believed her. She’s just supposedly really good at picking up on stuff. Can’t hide anything from her.

Also - mindreading and foresight would only feed into the hyper-empathy. She’s so worried about everyone all the time because she can hear their pain, she knows what they’re worried about, she can hear their hopes and dreams and she can see the fates everyone tumbles through. When the dod eventually find out about her powers, I can see Tsunami probably saying something along the lines of “hey, if you can see in everyone’s heads, why did you still trust the guardians so much? Why do you still care about them? Why do you still want to help everyone when everyone is trying to KILL US!??” To which she simply responds that that is the reason.

thrice-moonborn sunny :)

[inawickedlittletown]

From Loaves to Love -BuckTommy (one-shot)

Summary: Set during 8x07, Eddie sends Tommy a picture of Buck's baked good filled fridge. Fix-it fic. A continuation for the snippet I posted this morning. Words: 2.9k Read on Ao3

-

Tommy receives a picture of a fridge full of baked goods. Mostly, from what he can tell, loaves. The picture comes from Eddie without a caption. It takes a while for him to realize that the fridge is familiar because it belongs to Evan.

Eddie texts him a few minutes later:

Every time he thinks about calling you, he bakes something instead.

Tommy has a little bit of a breakdown about that because maybe in his mind he'd thought that Evan would already be over it, over them. He'd been not hoping for it, but expecting it, even while he knew that he would probably have a few more cries about it and that any reminder of Evan was enough to make his heart hurt.

The thing is that Evan isn’t really a baker. Or at least, he hadn’t been in the six months that they were dating. He’d been busy from the looks of it. He’s still looking at the picture when Lucy plops down next to him. 

“What’s happening there?” 

Baked every time he thought about calling Tommy. He doesn’t even fight when Lucy grabs the phone out of his hand and scrolls back on his texts with Eddie. 

It’s been the only form of communication he’s had with anyone from the 118. He was thankful for Eddie and for the way that he’d reached out the day after the break up not to demand anything of Tommy, but to ask how he was doing. 

Tommy had texted him back after some consideration. In all their back and forth, they hadn’t discussed it or Evan. Tommy hadn’t allowed himself to ask, not sure if he wanted an answer. 

“What are you going to do?” Lucy asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

Lucy fixed him with a look. “Tommy, you’ve been moping for days. Clearly he is too. Neither of you wants this.” 

“It’s for the best,” Tommy said and he didn’t even know if he believed that anymore. 

He’d believed it in the moment, had been so absolutely sure that it was the right move for both of their sakes and yet…

“You’re running,” Lucy said. “I know…I know you’ve been hurt before, but this time you’re not just hurting yourself. You’re hurting Buck too.”

“He’ll get over it. I’ll…I’ll get over it.” 

Her eyes bore into him even as she handed him his phone back. “Thomas, you’re in love with him.” 

—

Buck had bought all the baking supplies when he’d decided he’d take a stab at making Tommy a birthday cake. That had been before his heart was wrenched out of his chest and given a few stomps for good measure. That was before Buck decided to Buck things up by pushing for more too quickly and before Tommy decided that it was better if they ended things before Buck could end it in the future.

He didn’t bake a birthday cake. 

Instead, he baked a banana bread with the bananas that were going spotty. He discovered that being busy and having to pay attention to something like the recipe kept his mind off Tommy. Except that Tommy came rushing back into his head afterwards. 

Buck almost called him. Wanted to. Wished he could hear his voice and his laugh and that they could fix it. 

Fear stopped him. Fear that Tommy had blocked his number. Fear that he wouldn’t pick up. Fear that he would and that he’d tell Buck not to call. Fear that he would call him Buck again instead of Evan. Fear that Buck would be sent to voicemail and that he would say something he couldn’t take back. 

So, he didn’t call. 

Instead, Buck baked a pumpkin loaf. Then an apple loaf. Then a walnut and date loaf. That was when he realized he was out of flour and also that hand mixing was not ideal. 

He called Eddie. 

It had taken him hours before he told Eddie what happened. Eddie hadn’t said much, but he’d offered Buck the couch and then went out and got them breakfast the next morning. Eddie was the one to tell the rest of the 118 and when Buck begged for Eddie to check on Tommy, Eddie just hit his shoulder. 

“I already did,” he’d said. 

Buck didn’t talk about Tommy again. 

“What’s going on, Buck?” Eddie asked over the phone. 

“I need you to come to Costco with me.”

“Costco?” Eddie asked and after a pause. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll even drive.” 

Eddie didn’t say anything when Buck bought the twenty-five pound bag of flour or the bottle of vanilla extract, or the sugar, or the bags of nuts. He did raise his eyebrow when Buck picked up a Kitchen-Aid mixer. 

“What is all this, Buck?” 

“I just…I need to do something.” 

“So you’re starting your own bakery?” 

After they got everything up to his apartment, Buck sent Eddie home with all the bread he’d made the night before. Eddie didn’t say a word, but he did look like he wanted to say something. A few days later, Buck thought that he’d gotten quite good at making different types of loaves. He’d even branched out and found more interesting and complicated recipes. 

He did have to take a second trip to Costco to get more eggs when he got it in his head that he should attempt a baked alaska.

Buck did think he saw Eddie take a picture of the contents of his fridge the night he came over to play video games. 

Maddie and Chim both didn’t seem to get it. When she said the universe would give him someone special, did she not realize that it had already happened? That Buck had somehow still managed to blow it and that Tommy wasn’t leaving his heart anytime soon? That not calling him was Buck trying not to push where he wasn’t wanted? That not calling was Buck letting Tommy have what he wanted. 

And yeah, Buck had been thinking about what Tommy said after Buck not being his last and how he needed to explore. It was bullshit, but if that was what it took…if he could prove to Tommy he’d tried to find whatever it was he was supposed to find with other people then…

The logic was dumb. 

After they left, making him promise he’d cut back on the baking, Buck went back to baking. He made brownies and took them right into work the next day alongside a banana bread, a walnut loaf, a zucchini bread, and a pumpkin spice loaf. 

—

The knock on his door was in a quick rhythm and Tommy almost didn’t answer. He’d been wallowing a bit because they’d had plans for tonight. Plans to celebrate his birthday, no less. 

Tommy hadn’t celebrated many birthdays in his adulthood. There had never been much of a point, but Evan had wanted to plan out a date for them and now…now Tommy was all alone in his house wallowing. Moping. Rethinking his whole life. 

“Coming,” he called out when the knocking started again. 

He was not expecting Hen and Karen. No kiddos in sight to see the state of him at least. Tommy was a mess. He’d changed into sweats and a tank the moment he got home. His hair was a mess. His eyes probably looked red rimmed and exhausted. 

“Hi,” he said. “What are you—”

“Happy Birthday,” Karen said. 

“Oh? Uh, come in.” 

Tommy didn’t even realize they had a small box with them until Hen plopped it on his kitchen counter. 

“What is that?” 

“You broke it, and suddenly we’re all on the verge of becoming diabetics and it was just Halloween so we’ve all had more than enough sugar. But it’s your birthday and we figured you should get a taste of what you’re created.” 

“What?” 

Out of the box came bread loaves. Muffins. Cookies. Brownies. Hand pies. Were those meringues? No cake, though. 

“He bought a Kitchen Aid. He’s becoming some sort of baking machine,” Hen said. “All because he can’t bear to think about you.” 

That went right to his chest. Lucy wasn’t wrong. Tommy did love him. Tommy was in love with him. 

Looking at Karen and Hen, he wondered if they would understand where he was coming from. 

“I was his first boyfriend,” he said. 

“We’re aware,” Karen said. 

“So, then…then you know what that means. He’s been out for…for six months and he doesn’t have any other experience except for with me. How is that fair to him? To me? One day he’ll realize and then that’ll be that.”

“You’re a dumbass for thinking that,” Karen said. 

“My wife is usually right about things,” Hen said. 

Tommy groaned. “He put me on a pedestal. He doesn’t know it, but he sees me as his gay mentor and he’s confusing that with…with, I don’t even know. I just — I had to put a stop to it before—”

“Before you got hurt,” Hen finished for him. 

“Looks like you didn’t avoid that,” Karen offered. “Did you talk to him about any of this? You guys were together for six months, what was the point if you were always going to just leave in the end?” 

Tommy hadn’t even realized he was crying, but he was. “It’s not like I planned it. It was…it surprised me too. He asked me to move in with him and he was talking getting engaged and married and—”

“Wait…wait, he asked you to move in? How do you go from that to breaking up?” 

Tommy couldn’t explain about the Abby thing and he couldn’t explain about how he wasn’t the guy that got forever and how he wasn’t the guy that deserved someone like Evan. He couldn’t explain about how much it freaked him out to think that Evan could jump right to moving in together before they had even said that they loved each other as if Tommy were just some kind of place holder until Evan found someone else. Someone better. Explaining that would make him be seen and Tommy…he didn’t know that he wanted to be seen even if Hen and Karen could understand where he was coming from. 

“Look, talk to him. Please,” Hen said. 

“This is just a bump in the road. The two of you, you’d never looked happier than you have in the last six months,” Karen added. 

“I…I don’t know.” 

—

Buck ran out of sugar. 

Jee was partially to blame because she’d spilled some the night he had her as a helper. It was 3am and Buck supposed that there was probably somewhere open that he could get some sugar, but he was down to just his underwear and the plaid shirt Tommy had left behind that didn’t even smell like Tommy anymore and wasn’t that just unfair. Plus, his oven was on and Buck didn’t want to leave it on while he went out to get sugar. It would be just his luck that he’d be back and his apartment was one fire. 

Eddie probably had sugar. Buck didn’t want to bother him. 

Chim and Maddie would judge. 

Bobby might bring some over or he might just tell Buck to go to sleep. 

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy. Missed him. Wanted him. 

Buck grabbed his phone and he went right to messages and typed:

Ran out of sugar. Do you have any? 

Sent it to Eddie. 

No response. 

He wandered over to his couch and…Tommy had slept there just a few weeks ago because he didn’t want to leave Buck on his own. No one had ever done that for him before, cared enough to stay and cared enough to give a damn. Buck wiped at his eyes. It wasn’t fair. 

When he broke up with Natalia he had felt free. When he broke up with Taylor he’d felt like he was finally choosing himself. Ali leaving had been clouded with so much else that Buck had hardly been able to think about the break up because his leg was in a cast and his future was in question. Abby…well that had been devastating and yet this…this was worse. So much worse. 

His phone pinged. 

He fished it out of his pocket and oh no…he…the text hadn’t been sent to Eddie. He’d sent it to Tommy. 

Yes. 

Oh no. And he was typing. And not typing. Typing. Then…nothing. No message. No more typing. No call. Tommy was bubbling him again. 

Buck dropped onto the couch with a groan. At least Hen and Eddie weren’t there to try and steal his phone again. This time, Buck didn’t even want to call. 

After all the times he stopped himself from reaching out, that was what he sent? A text asking for sugar? 

When the knock came at his door, he went to open the door, reluctantly. A part of him almost didn’t even expect it to be Tommy but of course…of course it was Tommy standing there in his pajamas with just one of his flannels open over it all, in each hand a container of sugar. Brown and white. 

“You didn’t have to,” Buck began. 

“It sounded desperate,” Tommy said. “Hi, Evan.”

“Come in,” Buck said. 

Tommy stepped inside and Buck closed the door, trying to gather himself. In the light of his kitchen, he could see that Tommy looked if nothing else tired. The skin under his eyes was dark, like he hadn’t been able to sleep. Buck could relate. Tommy was taking him in too and that made him feel the tiniest bit self conscious about his lack of pants. 

“So, you’ve taken up baking.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s not a normal response to a break up.”

Buck laughed. He laughed because he might cry if he didn’t. 

“Do you want me to be like you, then? All unbothered at the end of the best six months of my life? Is that it? Oh, wait…no, you want me to go find myself or something? Sleep around and what, go back to being the himbo that Abby dated after you left her? Except I guess now I can sleep with men and women, somehow I don’t think it will go any differently.” 

“Evan,” Tommy said and his voice was gentle and sad and there were tears in his eyes. 

“I can’t do that,” Buck said and his voice broke. “I can’t. I can’t. I miss you. I want you. I wanted to bake you a birthday cake and since I couldn’t do that I baked everything else and it still isn’t enough.”

“Oh, Evan,” Tommy said and he set down the sugar and opened his arms, giving Buck the option. 

—

Evan rushed into his arms, burying his head in Tommy’s shoulder, tears and all. His arms clutched at him and Tommy didn’t think that Evan was likely to let him go any time soon. It didn’t matter, because Tommy wanted to hold onto him too. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said. “I’m so sorry. I did this to us.” 

Evan nodded against him. “I didn’t help,” he muttered. 

“When you texted me tonight…the thought of you up at this hour baking, I got worried and I’ve been literally doing anything possible to stop myself from driving over since that night. I had to come. I had to see you.” He took a breath and couldn’t hold it in any more. “I love you, Evan.” 

“You love me,” Evan said back, pulling back, staring at him with that amazed look in his eyes like he couldn’t quite believe it. 

His hands reached for Tommy’s face. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you too. And I am never letting you go, again.” 

Their kiss was reminiscent of the first. It was even happening near where that kiss had happened. It was gentle, soft, full of so much wonderment and feeling. Neither of them willing to push it into more because this was what they needed. There was so much to talk about and so much to consider and work on and yet, Tommy wasn’t afraid of that as much as he was afraid of giving up on this. On them. On Evan. 

He’d lived a little over a week without Evan and even that was too much. 

“I’m still not moving in with you,” Tommy informed Evan after a few more shared kisses.

“Oh. Yeah, I jumped the shark on that a little.” 

“You also forgot to consider that I own my house and you rent,” Tommy said. 

“So, how about this, nothing changes and we communicate more. You decide when you want us to move in together because we will. One day. You may be the first dude I’ve ever dated, but I think you can be the last too.” 

He kissed Evan again and Evan moaned into the kiss. They were interrupted when the oven timer went off. 

“I thought you ran out of sugar?” Tommy asked. 

“I was going to make apple pie,” Evan said. “That’s cupcakes.” 

He let Evan go take them out of the oven and out of curiosity began to look around. Opened the fridge. He couldn’t even begin to count how much Evan had managed to bake. 

“What are you planning on doing with all of this?” 

“I have no idea,” Evan said. “Donate it?”  

Tommy just laughed. “Yeah, Evan, I’m sure someone will appreciate it. Those cupcakes are mine, though.” 

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Happy birthday, by the way,”

Tommy ate the first cupcake before it had cooled and without any frosting. “Hmmm. Delicious.” 

[band--psycho]

Rafayel x Reader - Change Of Plans

Part three of my 'They find out you got hurt on a mission' series. This will include Zayne, Sylus, Xavier and Rafayel! I'll be posting the other stories over the next few days, please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of them!

This is also my first Rafayel story so please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

L&DS Masterlist / Rafayel Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Hospitals, discharging ones self from hospital, mentions of pain medication, mentions of injuries

You knew discharging yourself from the hospital wasn’t the most logical thing to do, especially when the nurses were so insistent on you staying there for observation. 

But you weren’t exactly a big fan of hospitals and you weren’t dying, you just had a slightly nasty cut on your side, one that the nurses had already stitched and bandaged up. 

So as long as you were careful, you saw no reason why you couldn’t leave, which is why you were getting a taxi to Rafayels place. 

Perhaps you would’ve stayed, had it been any other day. 

But today, you couldn’t. 

Today, you had a job to do. 

Rafayel was going to a gallery opening tonight, and as his bodyguard, it was your job to be there and ensure nothing happened to him. 

You were well aware that Rafayel could handle himself well enough, but nevertheless, protecting him was still your job…and you knew you’d never forgive yourself if something happened to him and you weren’t there to stop it. 

People at events like this could get nasty, jealous of the success Rafayel had as an artist; you’d seen your fair share of angry competitors attempting to confront him; not that they ever really got very far. 

You were always there to stop them from getting to him. 

90% of the time, people would just walk away, muttering curse words under their breath; then there was then the other 10% that thought it would be easy to take you down, of course you proved them wrong every single time, much to the delight of your boss.  

You sucked in a small, sharp breath as you carefully exited the taxi, making sure not to pull any of your stitches. 

Part of you was regretting not taking any pain medication before you left the hospital, because now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain of your injury was beginning to set in. 

Another small wince fell from your lips as you knocked on Rafayels door; waiting patiently on the doorstep to be let in either by him or Thomas.

You heard footsteps walking down the hallway before the door opened to reveal your boss standing in the doorway. 

“There you are,” 

You could hear the relief in his voice as he looked at you with a small smile.

“Normally you’re the one chasing me to be on time,” he joked lightly; and you smiled back at him, knowing it was true. 

You’d lost track of the amount of times Rafayel was the one who ran late to these events; quite often you had to lure him away from his sketchbook with the promise that if he was bored in the first half an hour then you two could leave. 

“I’m sorry, my mission ran over a little,” 

You could feel Rayafels eyes on you, his expression remained neutral but you could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe your reason for nearly being late.  

But he didn’t push the matter any further, which you were grateful for. 

You knew that if he knew that you were injured, he wouldn’t go to the event tonight at all. 

That was even more of a reason why you just needed to focus on the task at hand; and hope that that would distract you from the pain you were in. 

He invited you inside; and the two of you were discussing the exit routes from the gallery as well as some of his competitors who were bound to make an appearance tonight; that was until you both heard a car pull up outside. 

It was Thomas. 

You slowly rose to your feet, assuming that you were both going to be leaving to go to the gallery, but instead, Rafayel put his hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down to the seat you’d been sitting in. 

“Stay here,” he said softly, vanishing behind the door and heading outside; you saw him talking to Thomas through the window, you didn’t know what Rafayel had said to Thomas, but you could tell that whatever it was, Thomas wasn’t that pleased about it.

When Rafayel came back into the room you were in, he had a beaming smile on his face as he flopped down into  the chair opposite you, “So, what do you want to do tonight?” 

“We’re going to the gallery opening?”  

The confusion in your voice was palpable; not even five minutes ago you were discussing the necessary safety precautions to take at tonight's events, now you weren’t going atl all?

You were used to Rafael changing his mind about going to events like this, but it just never normally happened this quickly.

“No we’re not,” he answered simply, picking up a nearby pencil and twirling it between his fingers, “I don’t feel like going anymore?”

“Why?” You questioned, mentally preparing yourself to have to persuade him to go. 

“They happen quite often, I’m sure I won’t miss anything,” he nonchalantly answered; before his enchanting pinkish-purple eyes met yours, “Besides, I think you could use some rest,miss Hunter” 

“I’m fine, Raf,” you countered back, a little too quickly, an action that wasn’t missed by Rafael

“Is that so? He asked quizzically, narrowing his eyes slightly,before putting the pencil on the table in front of him before taking a few steps towards you,his eyes never leaving yours.“Then why were you wincing earlier,”

You could have stuck with what you’d originally said; that your mission had simply taken longer than planned, but you knew Rafayel would see straight through your white lie as he already had. 

You hated having to tell people that you’d been injured during a mission, you were a hunter, you were trained to avoid getting hurt; so when situations like this happened, it made you feel slightly humiliated. 

And now you were going to have to tell the person who hired you to be his own personal bodyguard, that you got hurt during a mission and ended up in hospital.

“What happened?” 

You noticed a slight change in the colour of  his eyes; it wasn’t the first time you’d seen it happen, though it only ever seemed to happen when he was worried about something. 

And right now, that something was you. 

He was worried about you. 

“I…I got hurt on my mission,” you mumbled your admission almost so quietly you weren’t sure if Rafayel had even heard it. 

“Why aren’t you at the hospital?” he asked, placing his hand on top of yours gently, running his thumb just under one of the cuts on the back of your hand. 

“I was,” you admitted, “But I discharged myself.” 

“Because of the gallery opening?” 

You nodded simply to his question. 

“Your commitment to your job is admirable, cutie, even if a little foolish,” he praised, moving his other hand to the side of your face, cupping your cheek delicately as though you were going to break if he held too harshly. 

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered, “I would’ve come and kept you company.” 

You couldn’t deny how his words, along with his actions, made you feel…

A feeling that you’d been trying to push away for the past few months.

“Raf, that’s sweet, but we both know you have better things to do with your time than sit with me in the hospital,” you stated matter of factly; making a small chuckle fall from your bosses lips. 

“Spending time with you is one of the best ways I could possibly spend my time,” he cooed, leaning his head down slightly before pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Raf-” you breathed, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you savored the closeness of him. 

“Get some rest, cutie,” he quietly said, before grabbing the blanket that was behind the chair and placing it over you, “I’ll wake you up in a little while when our food is here.” 

You could’ve argued with him; but arguing would’ve been useless; and in all honesty, you were exhausted, so you complied with what your boss was telling you to do; you got yourself settled in the chair and slowly let your exhaustion take over. 

Rafayel watched you for a little while; until he was certain that you were asleep.

He knew that you were fine. 

But that didn’t stop him from worrying about you. 

When he saw you wince as you got out of the taxi, he felt his heart ache, he knew that something had happened, that was why he told Thomas that he wasn’t going to Gallery Opening tonight, he didn't want to put you at risk of getting hurt anymore than you already had.

He wanted to keep you safe. 

And he was going to ensure that that happened; that you were safe, no matter what.

Tagglist:

@xacatalepsyx @stiltdeer-snootnoodle @deathkat657 @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @worm-in-a-bug @babygirl-panda19 @tasha-1994 @popcorn-mochi01 @cheesemachine44 @thegalaxysedge22 @chubby-bun-bun @whimsiecat @callme-amaya

[neiptune]

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, it’s 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 other’s dating life soon turning into a painfully precise evaluation of why he can’t seem to find someone worth keeping around.

“You don’t really open up to them”, his friend shrugged.

“I open up to them plenty. I’ve been with Yuki for three months”, Suna refuted such harsh remark with a scowl.

“Yeah”, Samu mused, “have you ever shared anything about your friends and family? What’s the most vulnerable thought or feeling you discussed?”.

Rintaro took a moment to reflect, begrudging silence weighing more each second spent quiet.

“She met Motoya”.

Osamu rolled his eyes, “Shit, you’re right— can’t believe ya didn’t propose. Meeting Komori’s the real deal”.

“You know, if I wanted to hang out with the twin who’d be a pain in my ass, I would’ve called your brother”.

With a snort and a handsome grin, Osamu lightly bumped his shoulder against Suna’s. “Ya love us”, then his gaze softened as he took a swig from the bottle, “I’m just sayin’. Maybe a relationship is not what you need right now”.

“Then what do I need?”, despite a fiery remonstrance, Rintaro found himself leaning onto Osamu’s judgement. He’d always been very good at reading people, much like his brother, but Samu’s approach was always balanced and, most importantly, sincere. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there was something he’s missing about himself, something that shined bright for his best friend to catch instead.

“A connection, dumbass”, Osamu lightly pat his shoulder, “it doesn’t have to be romantic. It definitely doesn’t have to be sexual. You need to find someone you can talk to”.

“I talk—”

“Someone who isn’t us. Not me, not ‘Tsumu”, he ignored Rintaro’s indignant scoff, “not Shinsuke, not Aran. You need to get out of your comfort zone with someone new. A stranger!”.

“A 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?”.

“Start small”, Osamu’s eyes glinted with the excitement that a good idea usually brings, “try that app Bokuto was trying so hard to get Sakusa to download. Matchpal, was it?”.

“Sounds like a great way to have a fifty year old creep flash me with a dick pic. No, thank you”.

“I’d think about it. Ya know, we’re not getting any younger. Like ‘Tsumu said, you—”

“I should hurry up before I grow old with only my emotional unavailability to keep me company, I remember”, 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 he’s 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.

Suna’s already downloaded the app but it takes one episode and a half to muster the courage to actually tap on it. 

The interface is pretty easy to navigate. It seems he’s supposed to create a minimalist profile first and then he’d 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.

Suna’s 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 one’s identity seems to be the point of the entire thing, he can’t 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 note— please don’t 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, Osamu’s ominous words still ringing loud and clear in his head. It’s not what he downloaded the dumb app for, it’s not what he needs right now. Fuck, maybe he really should’ve called Atsumu instead.

A new chat opens after a short loading time and his nose wrinkles when he realizes that he’ll 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 doesn’t 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 don’t shower.

A beat passes, then the small animation of a hand idly scribbling with a pencil indicates that you’re typing something back.

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s hot.

-> Why the username?

Suna’s 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 he’s 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

-> I’m glad it’s something cute :)

-> Lowkey thought you were an incel

This time he really does snort out half a laugh.

crysnoopy

-> if I was I would’ve 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

Suna’s hand blindly reaches for the remote to lower the volume of the show he currently doesn’t seem to need as additional emotional support.

crysnoopy

-> likewise. wanna make it official?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Jeez, at least buy me dinner first

Rintaro’s beat to it, before he can even click on the option there’s 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, he’s 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 he’s 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 didn’t call him an idiot enough times.

They’re 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 he’s 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. Samu’s 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 he’s around and there’s 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 he’d have to confront when the familiar ping from his phone prompts an immediate reaction the wrong twin would tease him endlessly for.

He’s always been a dry texter or so his friends, teammates and relatives have always told him. Suna didn’t ever think he was supposed to make an effort to become better at written communication, or communication in general. But now, there’s you. A faceless, perhaps not entirely sane someone who makes him check his notifications way too often, insides spasming when the message doesn’t 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. It’s okay if you’ll take hours to get back to him sometimes, he knows for certain that the message is eventually going to light up his screen and that’s enough to make him smile. Sometimes you text first, at either ungodly hours in the middle of the night or during the day, if you’re bored at work. He doesn’t know what your job is, you don’t know precisely what Suna does either because, again, anonymity. The only detail he’s familiar with is that you’re often around “wearing but rewarding humans”, as you’d once put it. The one thing you know about him is that he’s an athlete, something you had briefly teased him for.

When he’s 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. There’s a lot he doesn’t 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 it’s been raining for three days straight on a scale of ‘I can only function if it’s sunny and bright’ to ‘leave me in a storm and watch me flourish’ ?

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. He’s not entirely sure it’s ideal.

Unfinishedusernam

-> The humans are testing me today. Whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re having fun!

-> Ah, look what my mom baked yesterday. Told her I have a friend who’d love these :)

-> [IMG_65209]

Rintaro, elbows resting on his knees and towel haphazardly thrown around the neck, smiles at the screen. God, he hasn’t had a blueberry muffin in over a month, but what he’s really focusing on is that you’ve mentioned him. To your mom. There’s 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

-> I’m at training.

-> They look really good. Send me one immediately. How was family dinner?

He’s enabled auto-capitalization for the first time in his life, for god’s 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 Aran’s lucky underwear in high school and thus confirmed his identity.

Unfinishedusernam

-> It was nice! I love spending time with them

-> How’s training?

Rintaro finds himself wanting to give his identity shape too. It’s the first time he’s seen your hand, holding that tupperware underneath the dim light of your mom’s 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 you’d 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.

“We’re on a roll today, my blocks are almost as good as yours”, Washio grins, temples shining with sweat. He briefly glances down at the phone Suna almost drops when it vibrates against his palm.

“You okay?”.

“Yes”, Rintaro clears his throat, makes a show of shoving the phone right back into his bag, “you’re in shape today. Motoya too”.

“Ready for Osaka!”, Komori fist-bumps Tatsuki right before sitting next to him with an exaggerated groan, “hey, is your friend still in town? The Miya twin. We could go out tonight, get some drinks”.

“We literally leave in three days”, Suna’s fist lightly lands on his teammate’s head.

“Mocktails”, Motoya sticks his tongue out.

“I feel like I already see your faces enough. And I’m about to see them even more”.

“Rintaro don’t be a grumpy asshole, challenge once again failed”, Tatsuki rolls his eyes, “you’re always glued to that damn phone when you’re not playin’. Let’s go out, have fun, possibly get laid?”.

Suna sighs heavily. “Fine. I wanted to visit Samu’s new shop anyway, we can have dinner and take him with us afterwards”. He should get Osamu a gift, a nice plant or a maneki-neko. He’ll stop by a few shops on the way home, he decides.

“Now you’re talking!”, Washio smacks his shoulder with way too much energy, “let’s ask Nagito too, he’s gonna love some free onigiri!”.

“Hey, we’re payin’ for those”.

“Sure we are!”.

“I’m serious, you ass—”

“That’s enough gossiping, boys. Get back to work!”, by muscle memory, their legs react to coach’s 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.

It’s way past 6PM when training ends, the last half an hour was spent studying opponent videos and then simulating different match scenarios. Suna’s brain feels fried and on any other day he’d 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 didn’t open it, not yet. It’s reassuring to have the notification sitting there, untouched and polished against his lockscreen.

It shouldn’t matter that a stranger on an app is complimenting his hands, it really shouldn’t. 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 it’s Osaka after all, give you something real, something new to hold on to. Maybe he’ll even tell you it’s volleyball.

“Coming home from another bad date?”, 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 would’ve asked if she needed help with those.

“At least I still go on dates”, he purposefully eyes her attire, hoodie and sweatpants. Suna knows she’s just trying to annoy him, she can see the gym bag.

“With women who are blind, deaf, mute and desperate?”, she offers a sly smile and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s not a very flattering description of yourself, now”.

She huffs out a sarcastic laugh but Suna can see right through it: the irritation and the embarrassment.

“Always a pleasure running into you, Suna”.

“Likewise”, he smirks, “careful with those bags”.

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 can’t 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 sister’s 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 Kita’s birthday. Yet, he didn’t 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. He’d never seen her before, or maybe simply didn’t pay enough attention to notice her presence, so there was no way he could’ve anticipated just how fucking often he’d 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 Osamu’s leftovers are on his kitchen counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. He remembers how hungry he’d feel after training, so when he knows Suna’s 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. He’s 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.  

Unfinishedusernam

-> I really didn’t mean to sound like a creep

Suna really, actually smiles at his screen. You’re insecure about complimenting him, which is sweet. He should’ve complimented you first.

crysnoopy

-> Just got home

-> You didn’t sound like a creep, I like your hands too :)

His heartbeat picks up in pace when the hand starts scribbling shortly after, indicating that you’re online and were probably waiting for his reply.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Ugh, see? Now you feel like you’re forced to compliment me

crysnoopy

-> No I don’t?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Liar. Here, if you’re 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

-> They’re beautiful. I’d kill to have an identical pair

-> So you have nice hands and cool slippers, good to know.

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re a flirt in your everyday life, aren’t you?

Once again, Suna hesitates. He is, clearly he is. In all likelihood, if he knew you in real life, he would be. You’re nice, intelligent, funny, someone he can easily see himself being interested in. But it’s not what he downloaded the app for, he shouldn’t wander in flirty territory, he really shouldn’t.

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 he’s 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

-> I’d like that.

He waits for a few seconds, chat gone silent. Maybe you logged off, maybe you don’t know how to reply, either way Suna feels a weight lifting from his chest. It’s 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 you’d like to open up to him in the same way, if being vulnerable will ever be on the table. For now, he’s okay with simply letting you know.

Osaka ends up being extra motivating.

The EJP Raijin players have been training hard, religiously respecting their schedules: there’s 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 it’s because they’re in better shape, Suna’s almost punched him in the face over dinner.

When he’s not too exhausted, against all odds, he enjoys spending some time with old friends and acquaintances. He knows it’s 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 he’s 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 he’s missing out on too many things and he’s past feeling unperturbed about it.

“Shoyo says he’s very happy in Brazil, asked us to visit soon. Ya should come”, Atsumu lightly bumps Suna’s 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 it’s 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.

“Not gonna crash on your friend’s couch”, Suna’s peremptory tone makes Atsumu roll his eyes.

“Why are you being so pissy today? What’s up, scared you’re gonna lose?”.

Rintaro searches for something in his friend’s annoyingly familiar, limpid gaze as Bokuto snickers next to him. He finds his own affection, honed by years of joint quarrels, reflected in it.

“Rin?”, Atsumu’s worried now, head slightly tilted to the side. Suna offers a tiny smile.

“Do you ever miss Hyogo?”.

“No”, the answer comes quick, “I miss my family, I miss my friends. Yer ugly face especially. Places are just places”, he shrugs and Suna feels his shoulders relax.

“We’re lucky, we still get to catch up”, Bokuto smiles, “it’s okay to feel sad sometimes though”.

“I’m not sad”, Suna grimaces, “t’was just a question. Shut up”.

“Aw, don’t be shy! Keiji always says owning how we really feel is important”, Bokuto offers him one of his dangos and he begrudgingly takes it.

“I feel like… you should shut up”, he gruffs out. Atsumu snickers at that and Bokuto pouts. Suna doesn’t pay attention to any of them, too preoccupied with taking a decent picture of the boats. He wonders if he’ll be able to make the fireworks look as pretty as they’re in real life, to show them to you.

He doesn’t care that you’ll know where he is, it isn’t but a small part of himself he wishes to unravel for you. It’s 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 you’re scared of the dark and can’t look at blood without feeling dizzy. You’re trusting, extremely indecisive, a fierce procrastinator, you spend too much time on tiktok and are scared to death you’re not going to be able to keep those who are important to you in your life, forever. Suna gets it, really.

He hasn’t been able to say much, you opened up to him as if it was nothing and he still can’t 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 else’s presence in a cold, empty apartment. He misses his family, like, all the time. The thought of getting on a plane paralizes him. He doesn’t think he’s good enough at volleyball, his team may lose and it would be his fault. He doesn’t think he’s good enough.

“Taking cute pics for your mystery girl?”, Atsumu grins widely. Suna keeps a composed facade, calmly snaps a few additional shots, but internally he’s screaming. It’s his fault for expecting a twin to keep a secret, really.

“How d’you know they’re not for my instagram?”.

“You haven’t updated your feed in a year”, 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.

“She’s not my girl”, he grumbles instead, “just a random person I talk to. It was Osamu’s idea”.

“It was a good idea. I’ve been trying to get Kiyoomi on that app too, you’re both so closed off”.

On any other occasion, Suna would’ve denied that and retorted with an abrasive remark. Not this time, though.

“Yeah. Trying to improve there”, he huffs, to which Atsumu’s ready-to-take-the-piss expression softens.

“Right. So how is she? Can’t remember the last time you texted with a stranger for more than a week before they were either ghosted or became your girlfriend”.

“She’s okay. I don’t know much”.

“Everyone on Matchpal is anonymous”, Kotaro fills in Atsumu’s knowledge gaps.

“She has to be more than okay if you’ve been talking for over a month”, the older Miya insists, prodding mercilessly at Suna’s discretion.

“She’s funny”, he finally concedes, “and smart. Makes opening up to a stranger look too easy”.

“Smart? Okay, ya definitely wouldn’t be her type then”, part of the tightness in Suna’s chest dissipates as his fist collides with Atsumu’s arm.

“I think that’s the point, though. You don’t know each other and will never meet, so you can admit things you wouldn’t normally mention. Be vulnerable”, Bokuto finishes his dangos and crumples up the small disposable cardboard box they came with.

“Yes but at this point she doesn’t really feel like a stranger anymore”, 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 he’s given you a voice in his head. A smile he imagines reacting to his lame jokes, when he deflects tentative personal questions. He’s given you a routine, shared most of his. You don’t feel like a stranger anymore but you’re not exactly a friend. What are you, then?

“Uh-oh”, it takes a moment to realize that the teasing sound comes from Bokuto. Crap.

“And we could meet”, Suna pushes, “Shizuoka is not that big”.

“She’s from Shizuoka? Christ”, Atsumu lets out a low whistle, “does she know you live in the same city?”.

“She never asked”, 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 didn’t 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.

“I’m going to ask you this question just once. Do ya like this girl?”.

“No”, obviously not, “I don’t even know her”.

“Oh? But you just said she doesn’t feel like a stranger?”, Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up.

Suna sighs. His limbs feel heavy but it’s a different feeling than the one he gets after practice, more draining.

“He’ll figure it out”, the weight of Atsumu’s hand on his shoulder feels weirdly comforting.

I don’t 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 doesn’t show up on time at practice, in the morning. He’s still out celebrating-drinking with other teammates, their first Tenjin Matsuri an excuse good enough to be late. Suna doesn’t mind having the hotel room to himself for the evening, a welcome novelty: he just hopes he won’t 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.

It’s that stupid instagram post he decided to share after a year of semi hiatus, online presence proven only by the occasional story he’d 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 ❤️

Bokuto left a heart too, Samu and Kita some of their usual simple but genuine comments. Love you guys. Miss you :). It’s easy for them, a skill he wants to master as well. It’s 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. It’d fit you.

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Osaka!!!!

-> Fuck I’m so jealous, I never got to see the festival :( did you have fun?

crysnoopy

-> I did. Some old friends are in town too, we’re playing against each other soon

Unfinishedusernam

-> Your friends are also athletes???

-> Now I feel bad, this is literally how I’m spending the evening

-> [IMG_62371]

Suna smiles upon opening the picture. You’re 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 he’s never been interested in. The lights are dim, the room doesn’t 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

-> I’m 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 he’s still acknowledging it, despite something more urgent suddenly prompting the quick movement of his fingers.

crysnoopy

-> Hey, remember when we talked about how you’re really scared of losing the people you love?

Suna can almost sense your surprise, it’s 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 I’m a bad person

Another pause. This must be the most exposed he’s 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 don’t do enough to show how I feel and one day that could make them leave

-> Maybe stability isn’t for me and that scares me

-> I get bored easily, I don't want to commit. What if what’s regular, easy for everyone else will never be my thing?

Well, that’s 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 doesn’t do that. Why? What makes him want to trust you with all that? Perhaps it’s just curiosity, wanting to find out what a complete stranger would think of the thoughts that eat him alive at night. Maybe he’s hoping for some miraculous solution offered on a silver plate. Or he just wants to check if he’s able to even do the whole being vulnerable thing in the first place.

Your response comes after a couple minutes and Suna doesn’t 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 wouldn’t 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

-> You’re not too late, you know. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your family that you miss them

Unfinishedusernam

-> It doesn’t 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. It’s 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 you’ll find a person you’ll want to commit to

-> That’s 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

-> I’m here

How could he not be?

crysnoopy

-> Thank you

Unfinishedusernam

-> How’s 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 I’m into are never into me

crysnoopy

-> That sucks for them

It really, truly, actually does. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt as comfortable sharing something so personal over text, it’s all so natural Suna is convinced he’d 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 doesn’t know your name or what you look like, but that doesn’t 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.

He’d be into you. He’d date you. That’s what he wants to say: there’s no need to know how you look or the name printed on some documents, he knows enough. It’s a weird feeling that scares him and clouds his mind for a brief moment, as he waits for your reply.

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s 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, joke’s on him. He’s missing out big time

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop being cute, I’ll 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. When’s 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

-> It’s called onigiri miya

Suna chokes on his own spit so badly he thinks he’s 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, it’s late enough for him to be either still in the shop or getting out of the shower.

“Hey, what’s up? Saw your pic with that scrub—”

“Did a girl come to the shop today?”, the question is uttered with so much urgency the line goes silent for a few seconds.

“My day was great, thanks for asking! I’m okay, eating dinner on your couch right now”, the fake singsong tone makes him roll his eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is an emergency. She just told me she was at your shop today”.

“Really? Did she like it?”.

“Osamu”.

He chuckles lightly.

“Okay. First, please tell me why we care so much that she came to the shop today?”.

Suna loves his friend, he really does. Sometimes he wishes he was close enough to be punched in the face. “Stop being a dick”.

“Fine. A girl did come to the shop today”, Suna’s heart almost stops, “… along with a million others”, he deflates against the pillow once again, defeated. He knows it’s something he really shouldn’t do but he still sends the picture to Osamu, slightly cropped to leave out everything that’s not useful to the investigation. The two things his friend gets to see are your dinner and a V sign.

There’s a pause, one Rintaro swears is filled by the loud pounding of his restless heart.

“I know who she is”, Osamu speaks quietly, in a tone that leaves no room for sarcasm.

“What?”, Suna’s voice comes out thin, incredulous.

“I remember her. Came in as I was about to close the shop, bowed and begged for whatever leftovers I might’ve had. She looked like she had a horrible day, so I just…”.

“Put something together for her”, as you always do.

“Yeah! I usually don’t use those trays but I didn’t have any of the regular ones left”.

“Well, how is she?”, Suna cringes at the impatience vibrating in his voice, it makes him sound desperate. Osamu hums, it’s a voluntarily prolonged sound that makes him scoff.

“She’s really sweet. Apologized a million times, left a generous tip. I think you’d like her”.

“Yeah?”.

“Yeah, Rin”, he’s smiling, “I also think you should tell her”.

“Tell her what?”.

“That you want to meet her, dumbass”.

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. You’re so close. There’s something else simmering underneath the fear and Rintaro recognizes it easily. It’s an almost forgotten eagerness that he’s not entirely stranger to.

“Samu”.

“Hmm?”, he’s smiling again. The asshole.

“I think I like her”.

“No shit”, 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. He’d made peace with the fact that he had a crush on someone he’s never met and with that truth also came an endless list of associations his brain couldn’t help but make.

Texting you first, whenever he wanted, became natural. What’s 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. You’d once told him you felt self-conscious about that specifically.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes I feel like I’m 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

-> You’re not too much

-> And even if you were, I could handle you :)

You were the happiest when he had told you they’d won the game in Osaka. Heck, you baked blueberry muffins (“to celebrate!”) 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

-> I’d 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 doesn’t 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 hadn’t replied.

crysnoopy

-> I want nothing more

-> I’m from shizuoka too. let’s make it happen?

It wasn’t unusual for one of you to leave the other on read and it wasn’t 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 would’ve 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 wasn’t real. Worse, something you’d 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 he’s sent before giving up.

crysnoopy

-> Killer headache town, population: me

crysnoopy

-> How are you feeling?

crysnoopy

-> Hey, everything ok?

crysnoopy

-> I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

-> I was really tipsy, I didn’t mean it

crysnoopy

-> Or at least I didn’t mean to sound so pushy.

-> I’d never pressure you into doing anything, let alone meet me

crysnoopy

-> I’ll give you space if you need it, can you just please tell me that you’re okay? It’s been three days

crysnoopy

-> Okay. I’ll be here if you ever come back.

He’s so mad at you. Weren’t you the first one coming forward with all that stuff about wanting to kiss him? Why would you disappear? He’s 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 doesn’t pick up when Osamu calls, he’d read everything there’s to read in his seemingly inexpressive tone. He’s mad at himself, for not noticing how stupidly attached he’d become. Is it normal to miss you so badly? He doesn’t remember the last time he missed someone just as much. The world is cruel in relentlessly reminding him of you: an advert you’d find funny, that movie you’d recently discussed making a comeback in cinemas, sunsets painting the sky in orange and lilacs so similar to the ones you’d 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: it’s because he’d be left with nothing but mockery, humiliation and loneliness.

But Rintaro doesn’t 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? That’s on you. He’ll miss you for a good while, will probably always wonder what you’re up to from time to time, but he’ll be okay. You gave him much more than what you’re probably aware of and truth is, he’s grateful. He just hopes you’ll always be okay too, he hopes life will treat you well. He hopes you don’t regret trusting him with your most intimate thoughts, ever.

It’s not like he doesn’t reread some of your messages, to keep himself company. The most recent ones still have the not entirely pleasant effect of twisting his insides. He’ll have to delete that folder of screenshots eventually.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I’m so glad I stumbled over you on this stupid app btw

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re sweet, snoopy :)

Unfinishedusernam

-> Today was shit

-> Sometimes I think about how it’d be to have you here, at the end of shitty days

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop flirting with me, it’s 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, Suna’s blocks don’t suck anymore. In fact, they’re just as good as they’ve always been. He speaks with Osamu on the phone, a little bummed that his friend doesn’t have another trip to Shizuoka planned anytime soon: the shop is doing great, his presence is no longer required as often.

“I’ll miss you”, Rintaro still remembers the stunned silence following his words, “come back soon, shop or not”.

The younger Miya twin paused his ministrations, hands sticky with rice, and offered a surprised chuckle, “I’ll be back. Ya can also take a train every now and then, ya know?”.

“Maybe I will. Hey, next time you plan a trip to Osaka, can I come too?”.

“Hell yeah. I wouldn’t have to endure that dickhead alone”.

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 isn’t too busy to accomodate her for a week or for however long she wants to stay. Even if he was, he’d 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 hasn’t 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 it’s not like she ever directly admits it but he’s 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 mom’s 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 he’s 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, there’s 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 wouldn’t 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 doesn’t dare explain that he’s actually in a terrible rush because Motoya has been playing like shit and, of course, that becomes everyone’s problem.

“Get it together, man”, he hisses, way less patient than usual. Komori pouts.

“I’m trying”.

“Try harder!”, Washio snickers from the other side of the court.

It’s 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 didn’t falter.

-> No worries, I’ll find the house.

The train station isn’t at all far from his apartment, a mere 15-minute walk, but Kaori hasn’t visited in a few months and she’s not exactly known for her acute sense of direction. She’d get lost in her own house if it wasn’t impossible to achieve that in a small two bedroom apartment.

“Why is your damn phone going to voicemail?”, Suna grumbles to himself in the middle of the street, torn between running to the station or straight home. It’s not dark yet but the sun has set and Kaori knows very well the one thing she’s 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. There’s someone taller with her, which makes the hairs behind his neck stand up right away.

“Kaori!”, 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.

“Rin”, she stops right in her tracks, “sorry, kinda got los—”

“Why the hell is your phone turned off?”, 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.

“Battery died, I forgot my charger at home”, Kaori juts her bottom lip out. She’s the spitting image of her brother. “I was lucky to meet your friend right outside the station”, she looks up and so does he, features morphing into a horrified expression. Out of all people.

“You… what?”, Suna doesn’t know what to say. Was his neighbor even capable of smiling like that?

“It was nothing! We had fun, didn’t we?”.

Kaori nods. “We fed some stray cats on the way here. It’s so weird that you had canned fish in your bag, though”.

“I always carry some! Didn’t you see how hungry Mochi was?”.

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.

“Suna?”.

“Yeah”, he replies on autopilot, “Yes. I mean, thank you. Kaori, let’s go”, he eyes his sister’s large, pink, glittery backpack. Hanging from his neighbor’s shoulder.

“Uh, actually”, his sister coughs.

“What now?”.

“I kinda need to use the bathroom”.

“You can use it at home? It’s a ten minute walk from here, let’s get going”.

“I kinda need to use it now”.

“Kaori”, he sighs, “it’s ten minutes”.

“I live right here”, the woman from his nightmares indicates the house behind her, “wanna make a pit stop?”.

“Absolutely not”, Suna clears his throat, “she can hold it”.

“She can’t”, Kaori shrinks in herself a little, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Fine, I guess we are making a pit stop”, 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. It’s heavy as a rock. The hell did she put in there?

“You’re not gonna catch fire if you come in, you know”, his neighbor fixes him with a sarcastic glare as she takes off her shoes, letting her own bag fall to the floor.

“Sorry for the trouble”, he steps in at last, with a low grumble that allows a chuckle to surprise him.

“Don’t be too hard on her. She was panicking, I offered my phone but she didn’t remember your number. I asked where she was supposed to go and when she mentioned the neighborhood, I inquired about her brother’s name. Pretty lucky, huh?”, she’s not looking at him, busy taking off her jacket as well. Suna’s gaze softens.

“Yeah, really lucky. Thank you for taking care of her”.

“I also have a younger brother, I know what it feels like”, she smiles, looking at him at last, “one time we went to a festival without our parents, he thought it’d be funny to play hide and seek without telling me. I think I aged ten years that night”.

“She also used to run away so much as a kid. It’s in our blood, I was the exact same”.

“Doesn’t surprise me for some reason”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“I’m done, we can go now”, Kaori hops down the stairs, two steps at a time, then glares at her brother. Golden, foxy eyes narrowed. “You’re not being rude, are you?”.

He rolls his eyes but, before he can reply, someone beats him to it.

“He’s never rude to me. We’re friends, remember?”, 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. It’s 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. “Can you not be a weirdo for five seconds?”.

His neighbor (could it be…???) furrows her brows in genuine confusion. “I think volleyball finally started affecting his brain. Better take him home”.

“Yeah. Let’s go, loser”.

“Shut up, be thankful mom’s not here”, he fires back, fake annoyance to cover the fright that gnome’s actually caused. Suna’s 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. It’s 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 can’t think.

Would it be possible? You’re 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 sister’s voice keeps chipping away at what’s left of his sanity.

Your friend’s 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 doesn’t remember a single word exchanged that evening. He just remembers being an asshole.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes”, 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, “lock the door, don’t burn the house down”.

“Where are you going?”, her brows are knit in confusion, never in worry.

“None of your business. Lock the door”.

“Sure, sure, bye”.

“Right now, Kaori”, something in his weirdly brisk tone makes the fourteen year old pause the show she’s watching, not without a dragged groan, and get up from underneath the blanket she had stolen from her brother’s room.

You’re 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 can’t 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 didn’t 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.

What’s more, you had failed the one person you’ve 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 didn’t deserve your self-serving worries.

You’re already in your pjs when the doorbell rings multiple times, so insistent you almost trip down the stairs as you hurry, terrified that you’re gonna have to face an emergency with pandas printed on your pants.

“What the hell?!”, you instinctively step back as he leans forward, his entire weight resting against the doorframe.

“Sorry, I know it’s late”, Suna takes a deep breath but it’s not really needed. Prior warmup or not, he isn’t at all affected by the sprint through which he covered the distance between his house and yours. “I just had to… hey, can I come in? I’m probably gonna have a heart attack if I don’t sit down”.

You’re staring at him wide-eyed, completely startled.

“Yeah? Sure, come in! Is your sister okay? Did something happen?”, you’re quick to push the door closed as he heavily flops on your couch.

“No, no…”, 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. “Actually, maybe it’s better if I stand up”.

“Suna, are you on drugs right now?”, the question is serious but his eyes, now fixed on you, don’t reveal any particular emotion besides genuine… amusement?

“I need to tell you something”.

The odd idea that he might be hiding a knife somewhere underneath that leather jacket crosses your mind for a split second.

“Sure…?”.

“When my sister was a baby, she’d cry a lot. I legit thought my ears would explode at some point”, he weighs the words carefully as he approaches you and, for some odd reason, you don’t take a step back. “She’d 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 up”.

It feels like someone’s toppled a bucket of ice cold water over your head. Suna is standing so close while looking at you in a way you’ve never witnessed, a way so uncommon for him. You can’t focus on the desperation in his eyes and you’d never guess the hopefulness simmering behind a gaze that seems to be discovering you for the first time.

“It’s you”, barely a whisper, but it’s all the confirmation he needs. The relief in Suna’s exhale is intense as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. Thank god he does, because your knees feel so wobbly.

It’s a weird sensation, being pressed against him, hanging onto his shoulders for support. He’s warm and smells so good, of bergamot and musk. Your brain can’t quite comprehend that he’s the person you’ve been talking to for the past months.

“I missed you. I’m sorry”, 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. “I’m so sorry”, 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. “Hey, are you about to throw up?”.

“No, of course not!”, you take a tentative step back but he doesn’t trust your stability and keeps a gentle hold on your arms, “why are you apologizing? I disappeared. I should be the one… I should be…”, Suna’s 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.

“Please don’t cry”.

“What?”, you retort, “I’m not crying. Ew”, but when you touch your cheek, it’s shocking to find it wet. What the fuck.

“Oh, god. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me”, a dry chuckle bubbles up from your throat, “listen, there’s no pressure on you. I’m sure this is a real disappointment so, like, we can pretend it never happened and just go on with our lives. I won’t—”

“Are you sure it’s you? The person I’m looking for is pretty clever”, he attempts a smile when you frown, familiar at last. “You think I’d leave my sister alone and race all the way here for a real disappointment?”.

“I think you just wanted to corroborate”.

Suna rolls his eyes, incredulous. “Well, I corroborated. I’m only gonna pretend it never happened if that’s what you want, because it sure as hell isn’t what I want. If you even care about that”.

You angrily wipe your tears, cheeks burning scorching hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t expect you to be so close. I freaked out. I’m freaking out right now because you’re even closer, apparently”.

“Are you disappointed?”.

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. He’s searching for something in your gaze, with fierce determination. How can one person’s eyes be so penetrating? You feel naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

“No”, you reply, sincere, “no, I’m not”. If only you could feel the relief taking over his chest. “But… what now?”.

Suna feels as if he’s seeing you for the first time and, at the same time, it’s like he’s recovering something important, something precious. He’s already trusted you with some of the most important, hidden parts of himself. He hasn’t liked someone that way in such a long time and he’ll be damned if he lets this chance pass by. Again.

He’s 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.

[puckinghischier]

I’m a firm believer that quinn would be the kind of boyfriend who’d use the pink sugar lip balm you left at his apartment bc he misses you and bc it smells good

you’d meet up with him for lunch or something, not having seen him in a few days due to each of your crazy schedules, and you’d notice his lips looked a little…shinier than usual.

he’d give you a quick peck in greeting, noticing the tacky nature and slight sweetness of his lips, but just thinking he lathered them in flavored vaseline or something, knowing how dry his lips get during the season from all the exposure to the cold temps.

during lunch you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything but his glossy lips. and how they almost looked…pinker than usual. all the staring would have you realizing your own lips seem dry, fishing around in your purse for your trusty lip balm.

“what’re you looking for, honeybee?” he’d ask while signing the receipt the waiter had just brought, hearing you let out a frustrated huff, your favorite tube of lip gloss nowhere to be found.

“can’t find my lip balm. s’my favorite one, too,” you mumble out, still searching, determined to find it.

“oh! is it this one? you left it at my apartment, in the bathroom,” your head snapped up, seeing the small, pink tube in-between his fingers.

relief washes over you. you were worried you were going to have to go buy a whole new tube, not wanting to spend another $25 when you had just bought that one a couple of weeks ago.

“yes! that’s it! thanks, q,” you happily take the tube from his fingers and apply a thin layer of the tacky ointment to your lips. when you taste the familiar, sweet flavor, the same you tasted on quinn’s lips when you first sat down to eat, it’s like a light bulb went off.

you look up at your boyfriend, the slight shine to his lips still present, even after eating a meal.

“quinn…why did you-” you start, staring at the pink tint to his lips, making sure you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing. “are you wearing my lipgloss?” you finally ask him, a hint of amusement in your voice.

quinn’s cheeks instantly flush. “well…when i found it i didn’t know what it was and took the cap off to smell it, and it smelled really good. then i figured out it was lip gloss and it was pink sugar flavored, so i put some on my lips to see what it tasted like,” he shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “plus i missed you, and it tasted like your kisses, so i kept wearing it. it makes my lips really soft, though.”

you fight the urge to laugh, ginding it adorable he likes wearing your lip gloss because he misses you.

“guess we need to get you your own tube, then, don’t we? because i love you, but i’m not sharing mine,” you tell him, watching his head raise in excitement, bright eyes latched onto yours.

“really?” he eagerly asks you.

you shake your head at him. “mhmm. if it’s pink sugar gloss you want, it’s pink sugar gloss you get. c’mon, we have a pit stop to make on the way home,” you stand, arranging the signed receipt and tip where the server could see it.

quinn bolts out of his own chair, practically skipping over to you in happiness.

when you walk out of the beauty store 20 minutes later, three tubes of pink sugar lip balm richer, you laugh at how quinn all but runs to the car, sitting down in the drivers seat and flipping the mirror down, applying the sweet salve to his lips.

“how do i look,” he turns his head towards you, puckering his lips dramatically.

you giggle at the action, loving how excited he is to have his own lip gloss to wear. “sweet enough to kiss,” you respond through your laugh.

the words earn you another small kiss, feeling the tackiness of both of your lips smearing together, tasting the sweetness he said reminded him of your kisses.

he gives you a toothy grin before settling back in and starting the car, ready to go back to his apartment and spend the rest of his day off with you. he pauses right before he merges into traffic, though.

“just…do me favor,” he looks over at you, almost worried looking. “don’t tell guys about this,” he references his teammates, knowing they’d have a lot to say about their captain wearing matching lip gloss with his girl.

“wouldn’t dream of it, sugar lips,” you wink at him, earning a small groan from him, another laugh erupting out of you.

[black--sun]

He grins, and then he notices Shiro said doomed romantic subplot, and the expression wavers. Then he’s kind of impressed Shiro knows what a doomed romantic subplot is, and Ichigo’s not sure if he wants to finish that grin or not. He doesn’t actually know which direction to let his emotions go. Shiro is an unnerving person. Not that Ichigo is unnerved so much as his pulse is tripping a quicker beat. It’s the instant realization that he’s walking beside someone that might’ve been world changing in a different life or a different time or if his circumstances hadn’t been such shit. Shiro's already got a grip on the entire city. He didn’t even have a good start in life. He has so much potential. It’s kind of horrible that it was never fostered— or maybe they’re all better off. Ichigo’s not quite sure why all it took was that small phrase to give him such an epiphany. Maybe because he knows Shiro doesn’t have any interest in books, but Ichigo’s betting he could change his clothes and walk into a room of Ichigo’s colleagues and fake belonging there well enough to be believable. Like a chameleon. That's a very specific talent. Then again, Ichigo is so in love with the asshole, he’s probably playing it up in his head. “You’re kind of scary sometimes.” In a way that makes Ichigo itch to get his hands on him and follow him down that rabbit hole, because he’s obviously also not quite typical. He mirrors Shiro’s scoff though and backtracks. “I’ve seen you embarrassed so many times. I’ve seen you embarrassed twice in the last hour.”

That offer tugs his guts up into his throat and then heats them as they settle back into place. He’s never stopped wanting Shiro for a second. Not even back when he was trying to convince himself it was hate. “If it were that easy, I’d let you.” He gives Shiro a flat look at those words just because Shiro can be willfully oblivious when he doesn’t want to face something head on. But Ichigo is nothing if not blunt enough to cut through bullshit. “Shiro, he thinks you turned on him the last time he needed you. Do you really think he’s going to come ask for help? Do you think he would’ve anyway?” Getting Grimmjow to admit he needs anything from anyone is like pulling teeth. Actually, he thinks Grimmjow would rather lose teeth. But Shiro and Grimmjow were close once, so who even knows. “I don’t know if it’s even that personal. Do you have any idea how much of a song and dance I had to do to get him and Urahara hooked up? He still doesn’t know I had anything to do with it. If he did, he probably would’ve come after me.” Grimmjow, damn him, can still kick him around pretty good when he has it in mind. “But I’ll be sure to let him know you want to help. He can be your problem for a while.” 

He really does care about Grimmjow, but fucking hell is the guy high maintenance. Just thinking about it has Ichigo in a bad mood. But the last Ichigo heard, he was working for someone else on the side though, so this is probably old information.

Shiro’s tone leaves him feeling like he took a cheap shot. He probably did, but he also means it. He’s not always a great friend, but he doesn’t do it halfway. He sure as hell doesn’t leave them to die alone. 

Ichigo doesn’t comment, he just nods while his brain chews on that. Shiro has a lot of people’s dirty underwear in his pocket. 

Ichigo pulls into a parking space, scanning the street as he exits his car. It locks behind him as he walks toward Shiro and tries all over again to ignore that skin Shiro has on display. He’s never been here. Never even noticed this place, though he’s familiar enough with most of the city. He glances in through the window and thinks it looks exactly like the kind of place these clothes came from.

At first it was kind of difficult to imagine Ichigo sitting at a desk, writing into the early hours of the morning, hours he's usually out roaming the streets or working a very different kind of job. But the more they talk about it, the more easily the image comes to him. He never really saw Ichigo bent over his studies when they were together, but he knows that's because he was too much of a distraction. Without himself in the picture, it's a lot easier to imagine.

He scoffs, "I never do anything embarrassing." Very very not true. Ichigo makes himself so punchable sometimes. Shiro struggles not to roll his eyes, and plays along instead. "Oh, don't downplay that. It'll be the most interesting part of the whole story. Who doesn't love a doomed romantic subplot attached to the misunderstood character? Most of the criminal population probably doesn't read anyway."

Ichigo's not wrong, but damn that's kind of harsh. "Yeah but I'd say no to all of them real fuckin' fast to say yes to you instead." He'd drop everything and everyone for Ichigo. Obsessed, like Ichigo's going to write in his book. And he's glad for the confirmation that he's the hottest guy Ichigo knows, but he didn't really want to hear about whatever complicated thing is going on between Grimmjow and Ichigo. Except it shifts gears into something. Shiro blinks, then heaves an exasperated sigh. "I understand he's mad at me, but I'm literally so loaded I don't know what to do with it. All he has to do is say something. Hell he could'a just sent me his rent bill or something." What an asshole. He doubts Grimmjow wants handouts from him, "Or I could find work for him. Doesn't even have to be illegal shit. I have a lot of connections."

That scowl makes Shiro's hackles raise, but the words take most of the fight out of him. He's so twisted up about Ichigo. He sighs. "I do. I do wanna be friends." The problem is that he doesn't know how to be just friends with Ichigo. He's going to settle for it, because it's all he's going to get, but it's going to hurt.

He shrugs. "Not all of it. I move the important stuff. Politicians, celebrities. People who think they're being discrete. Only reason I never moved my own product before was because I didn't trust myself around it often." He offers up a sort of self deprecating smile. "That's not an issue anymore. But it's a lot of product, a lot of money and a lot of networking to trust to someone else, so it works out."

He watches Ichigo check his own vehicle from the driver seat, and starts rolling down the drive when he sees Ichigo climb into the car and start it. He takes them into the city, to a hole in the wall alt fashion shop that has too many items crammed into a too small of a space. It's his favorite place for clothes though.

[porcelain-gal]

unpopular opinion. just a warning, i'm being pretty rude in this.

i don't like when some of y'all start with that "stop acting like a victim bcuz it's your fault you haven't shifted" shit because you're sayin' a whole buncha nothing. people are allowed to feel negative emotions and feel hopeless when we live in like the worst fucking world ever. why are we sitting here acting like someone not shifting for years isn't gonna make 'em feel at least a little dejected and upset especially if it's something they genuinely want to do or feel like they NEED to do? are people just not allowed to be sad ever because negativity bad, effort good?

mf we are beings with emotions, the majority of us gon' feel some typa way if we don't get what we strive for for a long ass time whether it be shifting, getting a job, starting a business, whatever. and i cannot believe that some of y'all genuinely think that telling people that shit is going to help. like seriously, what is wrong wit y'all? do you realize that saying ts literally only makes a LOT of other shifters feel worse and even more demotivated because now they're blaming themselves and fucking spiraling trying to figure out what they're doing wrong?

and then y'all don't even give any actual advice after that to be like "this is a way you can figure this out," no you just shit on people and leave them with that. all you're doing is wasting space on people's fucking screens and it is so aggravating. basically what i'm saying is please be mindful of what you say and how you say it because your words do affect people and y'all need to talk to people like you got sense.

remember that people other than you got feelings. people are allowed to feel bad and tryna tough love a mf outta that isn't going to work the way y'all want it to the majority of the time. a little piece of advice; maybe try normal love first? kindness goes a long way, especially in the shifting community. just a "hey, consider that it may possibly be something you're doing" is better than "it's all your fault." but whatever, i know ts really ain't that serious, i'm just irritated. regardless, happy shifting <3

race-changers, ageplayers, adults who shift for minors, and (unjustified) murder dr havers dni

[so-that-was-okay]

So, 807 and the future of Bucktommy.

This is an open door. And I even want to think Tim & Co always had a plan. The breakup was planned but not final. Buck is pining, he's not depressed to the point of being broken but he is heartbroken. Tommy's constantly on his mind and he'd have called him if Hen and Eddie didn't stop him (which is also part of the classic romance storyline).

What really hijacked this story is those damn interviews presented as exit interviews. They were made to make us believe Lou was definitely done with 911, meaning Tommy was completely written off the show. Without them, no one would have known Lou was off the show for the rest of the half season. We'd have waited for Tommy to appear, and we'd have seen Lou reappear on SWAT, thinking he's doing both. Buddie journos disrupted the show's narrative.

Now that that's passed, what is the show telling us? It's telling us Buck is not over Tommy. It's telling us he's not ready to date someone else right now. He's lonely and he wants Tommy back. It won't happen in 808, I'm not even sure they'll mention Tommy again in next episode because that's the thing: in a classic romance storyline, Buck will now enter the "look at me, I can live without him" phase. He'll try to move on. I can see him go on a couple of dates (maybe during the hiatus or even in 808) with nice people but his heart is nowhere near ready for that even if the distraction is welcome.

Which leads us to 8b and the next phase of the romance storyline. Something should happen that makes them cross path again. On a call? Maybe at first. If they really write that as a typical romcom, then it's all awkwardness, nervous smiles and an irremediable attraction. They never parted by a lack of love or attraction. Tommy left because he already loved Buck too much too soon. But it's also 911. If they see each other once on a call, next time should be a lot more dramatic (chopper crash my beloved), which would lead to their eventual reunion.

It's a stretch but this is what could, and maybe should, happen. 8b is made for their reunion. If we completely forget the interviews, everything is perfectly rolling. It's sad for us, and heartbreaking, but that's the point. That's how romance is done. Hell, they could even cross path while they're both on a date with each other and things would be so weird (and Buck would be jealous without admitting it of course).

Now, that could also be the delusion talking but we deserve to imagine a reconciliation storyline. We're almost owed it. We're tired of the doomed queers, the lonely, the loveless, the forever single best friend clown of the group. They're already trapping HenRen in a mother storyline with no character development left (I miss Hen and her personal ambition), at least let us have bi Buck living the love he deserves with someone who actually cares about him.

We need to continue being (respectfully) loud about them. The GA joined us, we're not being delusional on that point. If the GA is also disappointed then it means something. It's a lot bigger than just a shipper tantrum. Buck and Tommy are meaningful as a couple for a lot of people.