#and some of you need to reflect on why you think life is only worth living till mid 20s | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neiptune · 6 months ago

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this town is fake but you're the real thing

cw: 11k wc, female reader, social media relationship, suna downloads an app that randomly matches anonymous users with each other because osamu thinks it'll help him open up more, strangers to lovers, romance, pining, so much texting, suna is as emotionally constipated as it gets

Against all expectations, 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.

#suna x reader #suna x you #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x you #hq x reader

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honeytonedhottie · 8 months ago

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starting ur healing journey⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🩹🎀

healing is so important for us to function and have good quality of life. a lot of the time its easy to brush ur mental and emotional health underneath the rug but its just as important as ur physical health, if not more important. take care of urself…💬🎀

SHADOW WORK ;

shadow work is a form of journalling that focuses on confronting our "shadows" or parts of us that we dont know well, to help kind of understand ourselves better, why we respond to certain situations the way we do etc. it rly dives into urself and ur shadows.

HOT TIP ; if u search shadow work prompts on pinterest they have some rly rly good prompts, thats where i get all of my prompts. i also have a couple posts that include shadow work prompts…💬🎀

the most common way i see people do shadow work, and the way i do it, is by using shadow work prompts and choosing a few that resonate with me. i'd answer the prompt in depth and talk about it in my journal. shadow work has helped me heal in so many ways and i highly recommend it if ur thinking about starting to do shadow work every now and then.

WHAT DO U STRUGGLE WITH ;

recognizing what triggers you and things that u struggle with help you to identify the underlying source. this is called being more aware of urself, so i challenge u to dig deeper into urself and try and find out what the BIG idea is.

some things to take note of when ur trying to identify the deeper reasons for ur behaviors, feelings etc is to look at…💬🎀

♡ what do i value

♡ what do i have the strongest opinions towards

♡ what is something that i think of all the time/why do i think that all the time

by also looking at ur biggest fears, ur strongest opinions and ur deeply held values u can kind of understand what u value most and where ur insecurities and fears stem from. something that u can also look to is the things that u regret...

STRUGGLE WITH REGRET ;

first off, understand that u should recognize, reflect and then move on because living in a past moment is stagnant and u can't expect urself to heal if ur doing so. the only thing that u rly can do is heal from it and learn from whatever u regret so much so that then in the future u dont repeat those same things.

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING GENTLE WITH URSELF ;

practice self compassion!! i swear everyone is so kind to literally everyone EXCEPT for themselves. give urself a break and humanize urself. u can do this by allowing urself to make mistakes and forcing urself out of the shame cycle. you are allowed to make mistakes cuz your human!! stop being so hard on urself.

furthermore remembering to be gentle with urself can cultivate a better relationship with self. acknowledge ur feelings and remember that whatever emotions ur feeling are totally normal and valid. doing things like…💬🎀

♡ journalling and nurturing urself, ur being gentle with urself and to me thats rly important when embarking on ur self healing journey

WAYS TO SHOW URSELF THAT U CARE ;

♡ practicing forms of self care and grooming - ur showing urself the love that u deserve and that ur worth taking care of and putting in effort for

♡ being mindful of ur health through what u eat, how much u sleep etc

♡ walking away from toxic situations, people etc and protecting ur peace in doing so

♡ getting fresh air everyday and moving ur body

♡ focus on urself and your needs before focusing on the needs of other people. you first.

SEEK AND YOU'LL FIND ;

lately most of my worries and the thing that has been putting the biggest strain on my mental health is things that i dont have the answer to. and by seeking help from some of my moots and my friends and searching on my own for answers that satisfied my curiosity i feel like i can live yk? cuz im constantly in a state of wondering and asking myself things that ik stress myself out and im working on breaking that cycle…💬🎀

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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

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Marshmallow Longtermism

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this week!

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "Marshmallow Longtermism"; it's a reflection on how conservatives self-mythologize as the standards-bearers for deferred gratification and making hard trade-offs, but are utterly lacking in these traits when it comes to climate change and inequality:

https://locusmag.com/2024/09/cory-doctorow-marshmallow-longtermism/

Conservatives often root our societal ills in a childish impatience, and cast themselves as wise adults who understand that "you can't get something for nothing." Think here of the memes about lazy kids who would rather spend on avocado toast and fancy third-wave coffee rather than paying off their student loans. In this framing, poverty is a consequence of immaturity. To be a functional adult is to be sober in all things: not only does a grownup limit their intoxicant intake to head off hangovers, they also go to the gym to prevent future health problems, they save their discretionary income to cover a down-payment and student loans.

This isn't asceticism, though: it's a mature decision to delay gratification. Avocado toast is a reward for a life well-lived: once you've paid off your mortgage and put your kid through college, then you can have that oat-milk latte. This is just "sound reasoning": every day you fail to pay off your student loan represents another day of compounding interest. Pay off the loan first, and you'll save many avo toasts' worth of interest and your net toast consumption can go way, way up.

Cleaving the world into the patient (the mature, the adult, the wise) and the impatient (the childish, the foolish, the feckless) does important political work. It transforms every societal ill into a personal failing: the prisoner in the dock who stole to survive can be recast as a deficient whose partying on study-nights led to their failure to achieve the grades needed for a merit scholarship, a first-class degree, and a high-paying job.

Dividing the human race into "the wise" and "the foolish" forms an ethical basis for hierarchy. If some of us are born (or raised) for wisdom, then naturally those people should be in charge. Moreover, putting the innately foolish in charge is a recipe for disaster. The political scientist Corey Robin identifies this as the unifying belief common to every kind of conservativism: that some are born to rule, others are born to be ruled over:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/01/set-healthy-boundaries/#healthy-populism

This is why conservatives are so affronted by affirmative action, whose premise is that the absence of minorities in the halls of power stems from systemic bias. For conservatives, the fact that people like themselves are running things is evidence of their own virtue and suitability for rule. In conservative canon, the act of shunting aside members of dominant groups to make space for members of disfavored minorities isn't justice, it's dangerous "virtue signaling" that puts the childish and unfit in positions of authority.

Again, this does important political work. If you are ideologically committed to deregulation, and then a giant, deregulated sea-freighter crashes into a bridge, you can avoid any discussion of re-regulating the industry by insisting that we are living in a corrupted age where the unfit are unjustly elevated to positions of authority. That bridge wasn't killed by deregulation – it's demise is the fault of the DEI hire who captained the ship:

https://www.axios.com/local/salt-lake-city/2024/03/26/baltimore-bridge-dei-utah-lawmaker-phil-lyman-misinformation

The idea of a society made up of the patient and wise and the impatient and foolish is as old as Aesop's "The Ant and the Grasshopper," but it acquired a sheen of scientific legitimacy in 1970, with Walter Mischel's legendary "Stanford Marshmallow Experiment":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanford_marshmallow_experiment

In this experiment, kids were left alone in a locked room with a single marshmallow, after being told that they would get two marshmallows in 15 minutes, but only if they waited until them to eat the marshmallow before them. Mischel followed these kids for decades, finding that the kids who delayed gratification and got that second marshmallow did better on every axis – educational attainment, employment, and income. Adult brain-scans of these subjects revealed structural differences between the patient and the impatient.

For many years, the Stanford Marshmallow experiment has been used to validate the cleavage of humanity in the patient and wise and impatient and foolish. Those brain scans were said to reveal the biological basis for thinking of humanity's innate rulers as a superior subspecies, hidden in plain sight, destined to rule.

Then came the "replication crisis," in which numerous bedrock psychological studies from the mid 20th century were re-run by scientists whose fresh vigor disproved and/or complicated the career-defining findings of the giants of behavioral "science." When researchers re-ran Mischel's tests, they discovered an important gloss to his findings. By questioning the kids who ate the marshmallows right away, rather than waiting to get two marshmallows, they discovered that these kids weren't impatient, they were rational.

The kids who ate the marshmallows were more likely to come from poorer households. These kids had repeatedly been disappointed by the adults in their lives, who routinely broke their promises to the kids. Sometimes, this was well-intentioned, as when an economically precarious parent promised a treat, only to come up short because of an unexpected bill. Sometimes, this was just callousness, as when teachers, social workers or other authority figures fobbed these kids off with promises they knew they couldn't keep.

The marshmallow-eating kids had rationally analyzed their previous experiences and were making a sound bet that a marshmallow on the plate now was worth more than a strange adult's promise of two marshmallows. The "patient" kids who waited for the second marshmallow weren't so much patient as they were trusting: they had grown up with parents who had the kind of financial cushion that let them follow through on their promises, and who had the kind of social power that convinced other adults – teachers, etc – to follow through on their promises to their kids.

Once you understand this, the lesson of the Marshmallow Experiment is inverted. The reason two marshmallow kids thrived is that they came from privileged backgrounds: their high grades were down to private tutors, not the choice to study rather than partying. Their plum jobs and high salaries came from university and family connections, not merit. Their brain differences were the result of a life free from the chronic, extreme stress that comes with poverty.

Post-replication crisis, the moral of the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment is that everyone experiences a mix of patience and impatience, but for the people born to privilege, the consequences of impatience are blunted and the rewards of patience are maximized.

Which explains a lot about how rich people actually behave. Take Charles Koch, who grew his father's coal empire a thousandfold by making long-term investments in automation. Koch is a vocal proponent of patience and long-term thinking, and is openly contemptuous of publicly traded companies because of the pressure from shareholders to give preference to short-term extraction over long-term planning. He's got a point.

Koch isn't just a fossil fuel baron, he's also a wildly successful ideologue. Koch is one of a handful of oligarchs who have transformed American politics by patiently investing in a kraken's worth of think tanks, universities, PACs, astroturf organizations, Star chambers and other world-girding tentacles. After decades of gerrymandering, voter suppression, court-packing and propagandizing, the American billionaire class has seized control of the US and its institutions. Patience pays!

But Koch's longtermism is highly selective. Arguably, Charles Koch bears more personal responsibility for delaying action on the climate emergency than any other person, alive or dead. Addressing greenhouse gasses is the most grasshopper-and-the-ant-ass crisis of all. Every day we delayed doing something about this foreseeable, well-understood climate debt added sky-high compounding interest. In failing to act, we saved billions – but we stuck our future selves with trillions in debt for which no bankruptcy procedure exists.

By convincing us not to invest in retooling for renewables in order to make his billions, Koch was committing the sin of premature avocado toast, times a billion. His inability to defer gratification – which he imposed on the rest of us – means that we are likely to lose much of world's coastal cities (including the state of Florida), and will have to find trillions to cope with wildfires, zoonotic plagues, and hundreds of millions of climate refugees.

Koch isn't a serene Buddha whose ability to surf over his impetuous attachments qualifies him to make decisions for the rest of us. Rather, he – like everyone else – is a flawed vessel whose blind spots are just as stubborn as ours. But unlike a person whose lack of foresight leads to drug addiction and petty crimes to support their habit, Koch's flaws don't just hurt a few people, they hurt our entire species and the only planet that can support it.

The selective marshmallow patience of the rich creates problems beyond climate debt. Koch and his fellow oligarchs are, first and foremost, supporters of oligarchy, an intrinsically destabilizing political arrangement that actually threatens their fortunes. Policies that favor the wealthy are always seeking an equilibrium between instability and inequality: a rich person can either submit to having their money taxed away to build hospitals, roads and schools, or they can invest in building high walls and paying guards to keep the rest of us from building guillotines on their lawns.

Rich people gobble that marshmallow like there's no tomorrow (literally). They always overestimate how much bang they'll get for their guard-labor buck, and underestimate how determined the poors will get after watching their children die of starvation and preventable diseases.

All of us benefit from some kind of cushion from our bad judgment, but not too much. The problem isn't that wealthy people get to make a few poor choices without suffering brutal consequences – it's that they hoard this benefit. Most of us are one missed student debt payment away from penalties and interest that add twenty years to our loan, while Charles Koch can set the planet on fire and continue to act as though he was born with the special judgment that means he knows what's best for us.

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/04/deferred-gratification/#selective-foresight

Image: Mark S (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/markoz46/4864682934/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #locus magazine #guillotine watch #eugenics #climate emergency #inequality #replication crisis #marshmallow test #deferred gratification

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scarletttries · 4 months ago

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Write A Kiss Request: Gun Woo (Bloodhounds) x Reader ...a kiss on a scar

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss on a scar for Gun Woo

You could never get used to seeing Gun Woo around the house of the older gentleman you worked for. It was like seeing an angel in your own home, a statuesque Greek god walking past you on the street, like the most beautiful idol you could imagine saying good morning to you day after day. And he was so sweet about it too, so unassuming, so timid. You almost had a hard time believing this was the same man who could take out whole gangs of criminals with just his fists.

Maybe the most difficult part about seeing Gun Woo every day was that it slowly became clear that he couldn't see his own beauty for himself. Despite being as close to perfection, inside and out, as a man can be, you could tell he averted his gaze every time he passed a mirror, so fixated with the one recent blemish on his otherwise boyish face. It was hard to watch him flinch away from your gaze when you found yourself staring his way for a little too long, Gun Woo naturally assuming the lingering looks were for completely the wrong reason. Where you saw a sweet, brave, handsome man, he could only see a disfigured scar he was sure would haunt him for all his days. There was only so long you could let him think like that for.

It was a normal morning of him arriving at your philanthropic boss's home, waiting for an audience with the older man and standing in the hall by the time you arrived for the day. As you stepped through the door he didn't sense your presence, letting himself stare deeply into the small mirror opposite and running a finger firmly over the jagged scar that ran down his cheek and along his jaw. You couldn't tell if his slight flinch was from the feel of it under his fingertip, or from you appearing in the mirror, stepping behind him so your reflection could offer him the gentle smile you thought he might need today.

"When I've settled all my family's debts, and my mother's cafe is fixed again, I'm going to save up for the surgery to fix this scar." Gun Woo mumbled the words quickly, speaking to your reflection rather than turning to face you, sure he knew what you were thinking and that you didn't need a closer look at him. Without breaking your concentrated gaze you stepped a bit closer to him until you stood shoulder to shoulder, really taking in his reflection despite how it seemed to make him squirm.

"Why do you want the surgery?" You asked softly to his mirrored form, hoping he wouldn't find it offensive that you wanted to understand a little more.

"I think this scar will stop me from getting some of the things I want in life." He shook his head before adding in a nervous chuckle, "I don't think I will be able to get a nice, pretty girlfriend if I look like this." In the small silver screen you saw him raise his hand slightly, as if gesturing towards you as the definition of pretty, enough encouragement for you to say what needed to be said.

"For what it's worth, I think it suits you." Gun Woo's head jerked to the side, no longer looking in the mirror and instead focusing solely on you, "It shows who you are, you know? That you're brave, and strong, and loyal, and fearless." As you let each compliment spill from your lips, Gun Woo edged closer to you, leaning forward slightly to be closer to your eye level, scanning your soft expression for any sign of deceit and coming up empty. He looked at you so adoring as you spoke, so awestruck by your kindness, that you couldn't help but edge a little bit closer yourself. "I think the world would be a much better place if everyone carried their scars the way you do." And with that final sweet sentiment you placed a soft kiss on the marked cheek, one hand gently holding the opposite side of his face to keep him from moving out of reach before you could.

Body frozen and mind racing Gun Woo just blinked at you in disbelief, mouth hanging open slightly as you quickly pecked the scarred edge of his jaw for good measure and then skipped off into the home to start your day, letting him stew on your words and affections in his own time.

Turning back to the mirror Gun Woo ghosted his fingertips over the slightly glistening places your lips had touched, finally processing what had happened enough to let out a beaming smile at his own reflection. Maybe he didn't need to worry about saving money to cover his scars, he thought, watching the blood flush his cheeks a rosy pink. Maybe he should use that money to take you out to dinner instead.

***

If you enjoyed this, check out my bloodhounds master list for more Gun Woo!

#writing #fanfiction #requests #one shot #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds kdrama #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds imagines #bloodhounds #gun woo x reader #gunwoo x reader #gunwoo imagines #gunwoo scenarios #kim gunwoo

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girlyassumes · 2 months ago

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“I’ll keep my manifestations small.”

Okay but…you don’t have to. No one aside from yourself is keeping you from going higher and drastically changing your life. If you want to become a famous singer, you can. If you want to date a celebrity, you can. If you want to get 1,000s of dollars a day, you can. Nothing is impossible.

And, let me be clear, this isn’t me saying you should be manifesting big, crazy changes. If you are comfortable and happy manifesting an SP you already know, having a job near you, etc, then keep doing that. Do what makes you happy. What I’m saying is you can manifest bigger things if that’s what you’re going for. If you want something drastically different than what you have or are experiencing in your current reality, you are very much capable of changing that and I encourage you to do so. Don’t you dare think that you can’t and end up settling for less than what you want.

Why do we downplay ourselves?

There’s a lot of people have ambitious goals and either 1) work their ass off to get it or 2) end up settling for something less. Why does this happen? Because we’re told you have to work hard to be rewarded with big things, and if you don’t, “life’s not fair” - you have to go with what feels easier to get or just quit. If a dream or goal seems too “unrealistic,” we’re told to let it go and do something else. This has always felt wrong to me and now I know why it has.

You can work your ass off to try and get it, but that alone doesn't fully guarantee that you'll get it. You also put yourself at risk of burning yourself out, which tends to happen a lot with people who push themselves. Affirming that you already have what you desire is most important. You don't have to do anything strenuous to get what you want. Can giving yourself a push help? Sure. What I'm saying that you shouldn't feel the need to force things to happen. Forcing things can actually slow down and create hardships in manifesting, believe it or not. So, I don't recommend doing that. The only time you really need to take action is if you feel that sense of inspired action or divine guidance.

Speaking from personal experience, the fear of change and not getting what you want is also something that can keep us from going above and beyond. We get so comfortable with where we're at that we don't want to be bothered to change that. I've been a very cautious person my whole life and have told myself on many occasions, "I'm a simple person. I don't need much." But, I would be lying to everyone - myself included - if I said I didn't want more and haven't wondered if the grass is truly greener on the other side. I live a very simple, comfy life. And that's not to say my life is bad or I'm "doing it all wrong," but I feel like I'm worth more and could be doing more for myself, especially since I'm starting to feel bored. I realized I'm chasing that feeling of excitement because I'm tired of the monotony. Now that I know I can get whatever it is that I want, I've started questioning what I've been manifesting, and me questioning that is what's stopping me from getting some of the manifestations I've been wishing for. My brain is like, "You can do more." My sister reflects the part of me that craves excitement (she clubs, she travels, she goes to concerts, she's told me to "think bigger"). TLDR: I've been settling out of the fear of change and doubting it's possible to get the "bigger" manifestations. Don't do that to yourself, too.

[This thing] doesn't seem possible

Referring to my last section, you don't have to take action to achieve your goals/manifestations, which may seem crazy and you may be questioning how it's possible to get things without doing anything. But, it is very much possible for desires and opportunities to land in your lap effortlessly. It's happened many times for many people and there's a first time for everything. I'll give some examples.

Taylor Tookes was not well-known for quite some time. She dreamed of being a model but was encouraged to be an influencer because her being a super model on magazine covers didn't seem possible at first. Taylor is only 5'1" and she had very little experience in the world of fashion and modeling. But, Taylor - someone who wasn't a big name or experienced individual - got recognized by famous models and modeling agencies rather quickly. It didn't matter that she was shorter and had very little experience. Taylor simply didn't give up on herself and affirmed that she'd be on the cover of famous magazines (she even wrote a whole list), which is what got her a career in modeling. She even got the confidence to walk into callings that specified they only want women who are 5'9" or 5"10 and she still got the gigs. Taylor even became leader of a group called "Height Revolution" that creates inclusion for petite women in the modeling industry who don't meet the typical height standards. Taylor made herself the first well-known short/petite model in the industry.

Bobbie, who runs the account House of Highbrations, was someone who was known for being unreliable and made poor decisions. She opens up on her YouTube channel about how she never used to show up for herself, let alone for anyone else. After improving her self concept and affirming what she wanted through things like meditation and scripting, she became a very well-known coach in the LOA community with a ton of money. She lives in a luxurious villa now. She got it even through wavering, simply because she kept writing about the ideal place she wanted. After only about a couple weeks, she had a friend suddenly reach out to her and tell her about a villa she found in the spot Bobbie wanted to move to, which is where she ended up moving.

Also think about the businesses and random people who suddenly blew up on social media (ie. TikTok) overnight just for one video or image they put out that went viral. One simple thing can change your life in an instant. It's already been proven to be possible.

[This thing] would be more difficult and take more time to manifest

Nope. Unless you keep saying this is the truth, then it will be your truth. It will take time and it will be hard for you because you're telling yourself that it is. If you affirm that it is easy and that you already have the manifestation(s), then it is easy and you do have it. It's manifesting the positive vs manifesting the negative.

We also tend to put our desires on a pedestal and certain things are easy to view as "big" changes. I'm not saying it's not wrong to be passionate about what you're manifesting (that's a good thing), I'm saying we need to stop seeing it as something that's hard to get, something too good for us, or something that's unobtainable. Taking the manifestations off a pedestal and putting yourself on a pedestal is what you want to be doing. Tell yourself that you are worthy of your desires and your dream life. Tell yourself you're so good - you have them already. You don't even have to fully believe that this is true, you just have to tell your subconscious that it is what's true. Your subconscious isn't running on feeling - it's producing what you feed/tell it. Sammy Ingram has made the analogy that it's like a printer: You send a file to the printer, it processes it and produces it out into the physical world.

Your subconscious doesn't register an SP you already know as someone who's easier to get than a celebrity SP who has no clue who you are. If you keep telling it that you're with Taylor Swift, then it makes her come into your life to be your girlfriend because that's what you told it. It's that simple. Your subconscious believes that what you say is what's true and makes it so.

I also want to refer to something Bobbie (House of Highbrations) said in one of her recent videos. Think about how much society values money - it's very high up there. It's become such a massive importance in our lives. We're conditioned to value money and put it on a high pedestal. But, what if we conditioned our brains differently? Bobbie tells a story about an ex she had who acted as if money meant nothing - it's just a part of life; something he can rake in with ease. Because he took money off that high pedestal and sees it as something that's easy to get, he rakes it in like it's nothing. He'd invest in stocks and the stocks would raise without him having to do a thing. He'd just start getting all this money. So, it doesn't matter if other people tell you money is this big thing that's hard to get. If you tell your subconscious it's not a big deal and it's easy to get, then you will get it with ease. And obviously because it's already something that's high value in society, then you're still able to buy everything you want with that money even though it's not on a high pedestal for you.

If this is so easy to do and LOA is real, then why do so many people not have what they want?

Going back to what I wrote in "Why do we downplay ourselves," we're conditioned to believe we have to work hard to get what we want and that some of our desires aren't possible to get, plus some of us are just scared to change and feel doubtful. There's also a lot of people who never learn about LOA and EIYPO or don't understand it. That is why people don't have everything they desire. When we're too hard on ourselves and have really negative views of our reality, this can have a massive impact on what happens in our lives.

Now, don't be mean to yourself and say, "Why haven't I tried this sooner or gotten what I want sooner?" Rewiring our minds isn't always easy to do when just about everyone has been conditioned to believe life is hard and certain things are impossible. I know for me, this has been almost 30 years of not knowing about LOA and just now, I'm understanding that I can do whatever my heart desires. Of course it's not a cake walk when it's been that many years of being told, "Life's not fair - get used to it."

Conclusion

Train your mind to not be intimidated. Nothing you desire is "too big." You are limitless and you do NOT have to settle for less than what you want. Get yourself to understand this and relieve stress.

#law of assumption #manifestation #loa blog #loa tumblr #manifesting #loassumption #how to manifest #affirmations #affirming #loass tumblr #loassblr #loassblog #loa

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suzukiblu · 1 month ago

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Day thirty-one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. Final day of the month achieved! Wrote about 32.5k of this WIP this month, which is much better than I thought I'd managed, so I'm pretty pleased about that. 💗 (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Did you seriously call it ‘cuddle-fucking’, though,” Kon asks with a snigger as he lowers his hands, and Bernard snickers and settles back flat on his feet, giving him another peck on the mouth.

“Maybe we’ll workshop that in editing,” he says. “Like we might need a couple more rounds of editing to pull it off, but if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes.”

“Only a couple?” Kon asks, pulling a mock-pout and wrapping his arms around Bernard's neck this time as he leans his weight into him. Like, not all of it, obviously, but if Bernard likes weight . . . “I dunno, man, sounds like quitter’s talk.”

“God why do we not own a strap,” Bernard mutters under his breath, and Kon laughs even as his face heats up again. Sue him, the dude is very good at doing “cute as fuck” and “horny-inducing as fuck” at the same time. “Hush, you, I'm thinking of you here, do you know how terrible it is to have a just-human dick when a half-Kryptonian one needs satisfied?”

“Not even slightly,” Kon replies with another laugh.

“Well it's very tragic, I'll have you know!” Bernard huffs, and Kon laughs harder and then decides “fuck it” and just kisses him some more. Like–kind of a lot more? Like way, way more.

Well, like–Bernard doesn’t seem to mind, so it’s fine, Kon figures. Like it’s more than–

He hears a camera shutter click, and his TTK immediately refocuses and he recognizes–

“Tim! Honey! Bastard! Did you know your boy could do the kissing thing?” Bernard demands, immediately breaking off the kiss to look over accusingly at Tim where he’s standing by the kitchen island with his camera while stabbing a finger into Kon’s chest to . . . make his point, Kon guesses? And honestly Kon would kinda like to still be kissing, but also Tim being in literally any room is incredibly distracting and almost definitely worth having less makeout time in his life.

. . . god, it actually is, isn’t it, Kon reflects, and wonders if he has ever been a normal person in any way.

“. . . I mean, there has been a significant amount of kissing this weekend, so yes?” Tim says, lowering his camera with a skeptical expression. “It was not in any way subtle.”

“No, the TTK thing!” Bernard says indignantly. Tim gives him a blank look. Kon ducks his head a little and tries to figure out how mortified he’s going to need to be when the Bat-brain kicks in on this one. “Or did he not kiss you incredibly similarly to how I do, was that not a thing on your end?”

Tim . . . pauses, and tilts his head.

“Sorry,” he says. “Kon, have you been . . . feeling us kiss?”

“Uh,” Kon says, and he’s pretty sure he’s never blushed so hard in his life. “I mean, like–it’s kinda hard . . . not to, man.”

“. . .” Tim says.

“I’m not trying to be weird about it, just like, when you’re both literally touching me while you’re kissing–” Kon attempts, and Tim very slowly lowers his head and buries his face against the back of his camera.

“Ngh,” he mutters very, very quietly.

Kon somehow manages to blush even harder, but he still doesn’t get what that sound’s about.

#timberkon #timkon #timbern #konbern #kon el #conner kent #bernard dowd #tim drake #superboy #dc robin #wip: think pink #dom/sub #okay I am glad I did this month but I am NOT doing a daily-update WIP for April hah #I am tiiired friends #also I have a pretty busy schedule kicking into gear this month so that's gonna require some adjustments

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ghouldump · 10 months ago

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Anything For You | Lestat De Lioncourt x Reader

ෆ all he wants is for you to be his perfect companion, yet you keep chasing the fleeting things of life

it was accidentally deleted, so i’m reposting

"You should've left me to die, I wasn't worth much before, and now I'm a monster," you stared at your reflection, disgusted with the sight.

"Ma chérie, don't be stupid, do you think I would give my blood to someone who wasn't worthy?" Lestat asked, approaching you from behind, but you pulled away.

"You made me into this-

"You will learn to control your thirst, you just need to allow me to teach you, and to stay away from that pathetic excuse of a-

"I loved him," you screamed.

"-and he used you, he used you over and over, then I came. I loved you, I love you, but you continue to chase a passion that should have died with your soul," Lestat raised his voice over your own, he was growing frustrated with your childish tantrum.

However, he knew he'd hurt your feelings, as your eyes softened. Biting your lip, you ran upstairs, to your coffin, wanting to be away from the elder vampire. He would leave you alone for now, until you were done with your rage. Lying in the dark, you chewed at your lip, holding back the urge to cry, you hated crying, one of the many qualities that were a reminder that you were no longer mortal. Tossing and turning, you closed your eyes, reminiscing about your former life, and what you could remember of it.

You grew up poor, living in the Third Ward of New Orleans. Your mother died during childbirth, leaving you to be raised by your father. He never remarried, and hardly paid any attention to you, working himself to an early death. At 12, both of your parents were gone and with no other family or life insurance, you began to search for a job, along with a new place to stay - the bank eventually had taken the house due to owing taxes.

You struggled for some time, trying to find somewhere, anywhere when you ended up at Canal Belle's. You worked as a housekeeper for the brothel, until you were 18, then you were finally put to use (as they said). The high-end whorehouse was very particular about who they employed, so you were determined to gain your boss's approval.

Prostituting was in the simplest term, miserable. Knowing you had a place to stay, food, and a bit of change in your pocket were all great - but there were downsides. Constantly being used and degraded, instances of abuse or being robbed. A life like this didn't have any true value until you met William.

Average height, dark hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders, he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He had recently graduated from law school and was the dreamiest man you'd ever met. Although looking back at the last year, when you were alive, he was more underwhelming than originally thought to be.

"I can see why you were a hefty penny, miss?"

"Y/n"

"Miss Y/n, you can call me Bill, thank you for your beautiful talent," he said, holding out his hand, smiling as you hesitantly accepted his hand.

"Do you sweet talk every lady of the night, after their service is done?"

"Only the ones as gorgeous as you-l'm messing around, you..are my first"

"Well, I'm glad to be apart of the experience," you smiled, climbing out of the bed, and going to the vanity. You had other clients tonight, you had to clean yourself up.

Watching as he left the room, your eyes briefly flickered at your reflection, before you began to wash up. William quickly came to become a regular at the brothel, everyone knew you were his favorite. As his paywage increased, he grew more arrogant and possessive, not wanting to share you with others.

Meanwhile, the soft spot that you once had for him, grew into genuine love. 'I'm gonna take you from this place, we'll move down to Lafayette, build a nice house, have a lot of babies', he pillow talked. Your heart nearly shattered, finding out that he already had a wife.

"You have to understand, darling, it was arranged by my old man, once he's dead, then I can divorce her, and I'm all yours," he reassured, wiping your stained face.

"You promise?"

"I promise, now take off this pretty dress for me," he said, pulling you into his lap.

In a way, you accepted your unfair situation - life had already dealt you a poor hand, so why deny yourself love? No, it wasn't proper, but nothing about your life was. that is until the mysterious French man moved to New Orleans.

The first night you'd met, you couldn't help but be mesmerized. Sitting at the small table in the corner of the balcony, you listened to the band. You always had an ear for music and it was rare moments like these, you were able to truly enjoy the sound of the instruments.

William was running late, you weren't even sure if he would make it tonight, but you didn't mind. You would miss out on money, but at least you could hear the music. Something about the melancholy of the trumpet, made the sorrows of your life fade.

"I agree, this song is lovely on the ears," hearing the voice you jolted, turning to face the man.

"May I?" he motioned at the table.

"Oh, yes," you nodded, watching as he sat near you, crossing his leg over the other.

"I don't believe I've heard this band play before"

"They're new, only play on Friday nights"

"Ah, that certainly explains it"

“I don't believe I've seen you before, are you a tourist?"

"I recently moved here," he pulled out a card, his name written in golden letters.

"Lestat, I'm-

"Y/n, yes, I've heard much about you, are you still accepting clients, Ma chèrie?"

"I-

"Y/n, come," William said, approaching the two of you.

'Do not let him speak to you in such a condescending tone'

Furrowing your eyebrows, you confusingly looked at Lestat, he had spoken to you, without moving his mouth. He hadn't even acknowledged William, tapping his glass-like nails to the sound of the music.

"Coming, it was nice to meet you, Mr. De Lioncourt," you gave him a small smile.

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, reaching for your hand, and placing a soft kiss near your knuckles.

William lightly frowned at Lestat, his arm territorially going around your waist, leading you away to your room.

'He thinks he is above you, when it is you, who is superior'

Again, Lestat's voice could be heard in your mind, making you look back at him. He now stood in the doorway of the balcony, maintaining his hypnotizing gaze, a smirk in place.

You didn't see Lestat for nearly two weeks until your madam called you into her office, the mysterious man eyed your figure, from head to toe, that same grin, and your heart fluttered at the sight. The room was much brighter than the balcony and you could see him more clearly. He looked heavenly, yet devilish, perhaps a beautiful fallen angel, gracing your eyes. He smiled, chuckling, making your blood run cold, the way his eyes stared at you, you were certain he could hear your thoughts, but that wasn't possible.

"Y/n, you won't be seeing Mr. William tonight, Mr. De Lioncourt was willing to pay double the price for you, you be a good girl now," she told you, leaving the room.

"Please, come sit," Lestat said, your feet moved on their own, leading you to the chair near him.

"Hi, Mr. De Lioncourt-

"No need to be formal with me, ma chèrie-

"Are you a magician?" You asked, making him laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"I heard you in my head"

"He speaks to you as if you are his pet, it's irritating seeing such potential being treated poorly," he said, his hand going to gently rest on your cheek.

"You are too kind, Lestat, but Bill didn't mean any harm, and I'm nothing special," you shook your head, your eyes widening as he scoffed.

"Nonsense, you will soon see how priceless you are, I would take my word for it, over your affair partner, I mean, look at me, then him"

"Affair?"

"Ma chèrie, you are aware that he is married? You are more than a fling"

"It is a misunderstanding, he was forced into an arranged marriage, once his father dies, we can-

"Did he tell you these things? I am unmarried, I wouldn't burden you with the worries of another, you'd be my angel, for an eternity," he said, as you stared into each other's eyes.

"If I wasn't broken, then I would believe you, but I have to accept what I can get"

"Not with me, I'll be there to fix every piece of you," he said, moving closer before his lips were pressed against your own. Swiftly, you were in his lap, reaching for the back of your dress.

"I can't accept this," you shook your head, backing away from Lestat, who only pulled you closer.

"Oh, but you must, it will go perfectly against your soft skin," he said, wrapping his arms around you.

"Fine, but close your eyes, no peaking," you said, stepping out of your clothes, and slipping into the gifted lingerie set.

You had only been seeing Lestat for a few weeks now, but it felt like it had been months. He came nearly every night and on nights he didn't make it, he sent a letter, apologizing. He continued to pay double, much like William, keeping you to himself, except you didn't mind. Some nights, you'd have spontaneous sex, walk the streets, or have long conversations. Lestat was making his way into your heart, and shoving William out of the way, and you found yourself not minding.

"Hey, I said no peaking," you giggled, adjusting the knickers, before looking through your new small collection of dresses. It seemed like every time he visited, he had a new gift.

"Mr. William, Y/n, is busy-

"Let be through," you opened the door confused, making eye contact with a furious William. His eyes softened on you, but noticing Lestat who now stood behind you, his button shirt open, you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

"Y/n, what is the meaning of this?"

"Bill, it is nice to see you"

"What are you doing with him? You are mine, you will not be with the both of us-

"I'd like to stay with Lestat," you answered quickly, your heart racing, as he chuckled, slamming the door in William's face.

"I can't believe I did that, do you think we could do something else tomorrow? Even if we just go walk down the quarter," you rambled, until his finger brushed against your lips.

"I will send for you to be brought to my home, I must go”

"Your house? Are you sure?" You asked, you had never seen his home, only hearing a few things about it being expensive. You knew Lestat was wealthy, but you never questioned how or why. You didn't question a lot of things about him, how you never got to see him during the day, why his eyes were so pale, how he was able to get into your head. You simply accepted these traits as a part of him.

"I will see you then, ma chèrie," he said, getting dressed, before softly pecking your lips.

The next day, as the sun was setting you were making your way back to your room. You had been out, searching for lipstick and perfume, but Lestat would be sending for you soon. However, before you could make it back to Canal Belle's, a sack was thrown over your head, dragging you into an ally.

As you went to scream, you couldn't, your mouth covered harshly, as you were thrown into what felt like a carriage. You could hear multiple voices, none recognizable, but they were laughing. Eventually, the motion came to a stop, before you were dragged out again. Clawing your way free, you broke into a run, before you were tackled, when they started. Taking turns, the unknown men beat you, repeatedly. The screams that wanted to escape were now suppressed. Suddenly, one of them ripped the sack from your head.

"P-please"

"Shut your mouth, whore"

They continued and continued, your breathing becoming more ragged, your vision more blurred. Unexpectedly, a harsh wind blew, and both of the men were killed soundlessly. Lestat then stooped down, lifting you into his arms.

"Lestat," you shrugged to keep your eyes open, confused to even be seeing him.

"Y/n, allow me to fix you, you'll be my companion, and I yours, and no one will ever hurt you again," he said, watching as your hand, weakly went to his mouth, wiping at the smeared blood.

"I'm damaged property-

"You are more precious than any jewel, my love, allow me to gift you an eternity of bliss," he said, a single bloody tear rolling down his face.

"Okay," you nodded, growing more tired by the second. Abruptly, you began feeling a burning sensation, as Lestat bit your neck, sucking your blood, leaving you cold and numb, before allowing you to drink his own.

Becoming Lestat's companion and fledgling was easier than you thought. Or at least, you didn't struggle in areas that you thought you would. You thought you'd miss going out in the warm sun, eating different foods, spending time with your old favored clients. None of those things matter to you anymore, Lestat filled your mind and you enjoyed every moment with him.

Except there was one thing, the fundamental problem you struggled against. Your thirst was strong, you could hardly control yourself, doing something as simple as passing by other mortals was a struggle. Lestat had been helping you with your hunting, but you still couldn't gain discipline from his techniques.

Running into a former colleague, she insisted that the two of you caught up before she went on to bring up William, he had moved to Lafayette. Hearing the name piqued your interest in a way that it shouldn't have. You began thinking back, all the fun stories he's shared, his kind and romantic words. Lestat knew something was going on, you were beginning to pull away from him, but he didn't want to force you into a conversation.

You began to plan, you knew Lestat would be jealous, and not supportive - but this felt right. Just as the sun set, you knew Lestat had plans tonight, however, you didn't intend on joining. Placing a kiss on his lips before he left your shared home, and you began to get ready yourself.

Traveling by foot, you made it to Lafayette within thirty minutes and began your search for Williams' home. By the time you found him, any traces of the sun had disappeared. You slowly approached his home, a large house, in the middle of nowhere. As a woman came out, a baby in her arms, you stopped. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her, before doing the same to the child in her arms. A hand went to your mouth, in disbelief, watching as she went inside, you revealed yourself.

"Bill," you called out, approaching.

"Y/n? I-my eyes are playing tricks on me," he shook his head.

"No-

"I heard you died," he said, making you freeze.

Nearly six months passed and no one knew about the incident with you and the two men. It was dark, and Lestat had killed them before he got the chance to read their thoughts to figure out why they were doing this. However, standing in front of Bill, it now made perfect sense, the gears clicking in your mind. The bloody tears began to leak from your eyes.

"Well, I'm here," you held your head up, wiping away the blood before it could make it down your face.

"You were never gonna leave her, were you?" You asked a sad smile in place.

"Oh, darling, don't worry about her, come here," he said, opening his arms.

Slowly moving closer, you stood stiff for a moment, as he wrapped his arms around you. Going to wrap your arms around him, you noticed a prominent vein in his neck, triggering your teeth. Your mind began to run wild, you wanted to drain the life out of Bill, his wife, his infant, and anyone in the home. Lifting your head to bite-

"Y/n, come to me, Now," Lestat commanded. The compelling feeling washed over you, and you pulled away from Bill.

"I have to go," you said, ignoring his questions, making your way back home.

Now away from him, your emotions were everywhere, the thought of killing the child and his mother disgusted you, only a monster-

And Bill, why would he do something like that to you, was he never in love with you?

Lestat stood outside, his jaw clenching, his eyes following you as you went inside.

"You have been crying," he said, pointing out, as you went to the bathroom, turning on the water to rinse your face.

"Why did you go see him?" He asked.

"Can we not talk about this?" You asked in return, feeling yourself getting emotional all over.

"No, I need to know why my companion ran off in the middle of the night, to go see another-

"It doesn't matter, I won't go again," you said, rolling your eyes, as another tear dropped.

"Something happened, ma chèrie?"

"I'm a monster, I wanted to kill them all, even a child, am I that untamed, that I would hurt a child," you shook your head in disbelief.

"You are far from a monster, you just need time"

"You should've left me to die, I wasn't worth much before, and now I'm a monster," you stared at your reflection, disgusted with the sight.

Memories of the fight between the two of you made you open your eyes, staring up into the darkness. You were sure you had been crying all over again, by the wetness of your face.

"Ma chérie, I apologize for my choice of words, please don't shut me out," you heard Lestat's voice outside of the coffin.

"I will do anything, to make you feel better," he announced, as you finally opened the coffin.

"Your crying makes my heart ache," he said, gently wiping your face.

"I'm sorry," you told him. You felt remorseful, you hadn't fully let go of your old life as you knew it, when Lestat was right in front of you, guaranteeing a life of passion and love like no other.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?" he asked a gentle smile in place.

"I couldn't let go of the past to see to truly appreciate what was in front of me, but I couldn't see more clearly now"

"I love you too, my angel," he laughed, kissing your lips.

"Lestat, I think Bill was behind the incident, he said something questionable," you said, climbing out of the coffin, wiping your eyes, as Lestat stood.

"What did he say?"

"That he "heard" that I was dead, no one else knew about what happened, unless-

"He paid them to do it, probably out of jealousy, come, we have somewhere to be," he said in a serious tone, locking up the house and leading you to his car.

You didn't say much of anything, silently enjoying the ride, that seemed to last forever, until he pulled over.

"The rest of the way, we have to do by foot," he said, getting out, as the two of you walked down the familiar path. You felt like you knew where he was taking you, but silently, you followed, until stopping in front of the large home.

"Do not worry about the well-being of the child, I will take care of it," he told you.

"Lestat"

"As much as I want to do it myself, you deserve revenge,” he said, quietly breaking the door, and entering as it creaked open.

Going upstairs, he quickly came down with the infant, wrapped in a blanket. Grabbing a nearby basket, the child was placed inside.

"We will leave it somewhere safe," he told you, reassuringly, waving for you to go upstairs, when the baby cried out. He rolled his eyes in disgust.

Suddenly, footsteps were heard, followed by panic, they were looking for the baby. William's wife ran to wake him up, both of them soon coming into view as they ran to the stairs. Freezing, they watched as Lestat tauntingly held the basket.

"Please, give me my baby"

"Y/n, what is the meaning of this?

"Bill, you know her?"

"I truly don't understand why if someone's name starts with Will, everyone insists on calling them Bill," Lestat laughed.

Not saying a word, your teeth came out, staring at the two of them.

"Enjoy this," Lestat told you, snickering at the look of fear on Williams's face.

"Think of it like an eye for an eye, a death for a death," you told him, slowly walking up the stairs.

"Spare her," he pleaded, but you only laughed.

"I don't think you're in any position to make any commands," you smiled.

Sitting the baby outside, Lestat soon joined you as you drained the two of them, along with the house servants, before setting the house on fire.

Lestat kept his word, leaving the basket in front of a far-off neighbor before the two of you headed back to New Orleans. By the time you were back home, the sun was on the brink of rising. Hungrily kissing each other, Lestat carried you to your shared room, gently placing you on the ground.

"Thank you, for tonight"

"Anything for you," he said, pulling you into another kiss.

"May I join you?" You asked him, as he went to open his coffin.

"Always," he nodded, as you both stripped from your clothing. Watching as he climbed in first, lying down, you straddled his waist.

"I love you, Lestat"

"I love you more, ma chèrie," he held your hand, placing a kiss on it, as you reached up, closing the coffin.

If this is what your eternity looked like, then you couldn't be more grateful for such a gift.

a/n : feel free to send request if you have anything in mind

#lestat de lioncourt #lestat x reader #lestat de lioncourt x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat #the vampire chronicles #iwtv lestat

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mikanotes · 4 months ago

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heavenly way to,

hyunju x gn!reader

genre: angst comfort, established relationship. » warnings: death, blood, mentions of injuries, murder, firearms, canon divergence. » note: yes i’m back to writing for the series that basically started this blog. hello! i love her.

synopsis: Is sacrifice for your lover a gift to be grateful for, or a burden worth being cursed for? The thought grows heavy on your mind the longer you spend in the games.

“Why?”

Hyunju’s voice has never sounded so broken. She’s too astounded to even think of not letting her guard down, simply weak and vulnerable as she stares up at you. The shake in that one word, the sickening concern in her eyes— It almost makes you regret what just happened.

Almost.

“Because I care about you more than—”

“Nevermind…” she scoffs, eyes widening. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop the tremble of a sob waiting to escape her throat. Her gaze averts to a wall in the dormitory, silently putting a stop to whatever you were going to say.

You decide to give her space.

The bathrooms are empty, leaving you silence and space for thinking. You look at your reflection in the mirror, the blood on your face and neck. You did not kill anyone. You assured your safety. You did not kill someone. They were a problem. The thought repeats steadily in your mind as you turn on the faucet, letting water flow into your palms.

It’s as if you can see the overflowing blood on your hands, still. That player you fought to throw out of that room, the sight of the bullet shooting through their head once the door finally locked, the weight of their grip of the other the side of the handle loosening until a thud confirmed the end of a life. But they were in the spot she needed. You could not risk it. What if she had died? It was only right.

The blood washes off. The thought remains. You aren’t sure how long you spend staring at the mirror, barely even really looking at your reflection. You just know you’re asked to return to the dormitory, and that you go to bed, then the lights turn off.

You think Hyunju hates you.

You thought she would come to hate you here over trying to protect her, maybe. Now you realize, now that the blood is there, that she could simply hate you for taking away someone’s life— Even if indirectly. It makes sense to hate a now-murderer.

Yes.

Then, if she hates you, you’ll be able to sacrifice yourself for her sake if need be without wondering how well she’ll take the loss—

“Don’t just disappear.” A familiar soft voice speaks behind you. Hyunju’s arms circle around your waist and her head presses gently into your nape. She’s so warm. You almost forget your train of thoughts.

Once it comes back to you, your expression pulls into confusion. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Were you trying to give me space?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, but hugs you tighter. “Because I was angry? Angry that you got yourself in so much unnecessary danger for my sake? Try making some sense.”

Your body relaxes into her hold before you even realize it, and soon, you’re turning over to look at her. She just seems a bit sad. Your hand slowly moves to her face and cradles her cheek, caressing the skin with care. “I pushed someone straight to their death and you’re telling me you were mad because I was in danger?”

She doesn’t respond, simply pursing her lips. A silent yeah. Exactly that.

“In danger? Me?”

“One second off and they could’ve switched you out of the room. And then I would have been alone with someone who practically killed you. And that would have been it. No more you at all,” she explains, and her voice begins shaking, “No more— I wouldn’t see your face anymore, wouldn’t have you with me, wouldn’t have the knowledge you’re there for me when life fucks me over— Think about it, come on.”

She’s trying so hard not to cry and stay quiet you wonder how much it must hurt. So you were wrong. It isn’t at all that person’s death that made her look at you this way. It’s somehow even worse.

You turn fully to return her embrace, hugging her firmly and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t risk dying for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She hides her face in your neck. “I love you.”

She says it with every single fiber of her being. After all, her touch, her tears, her words before this— They’re all marks of love. You feel her hand brushing over your arm, an injury you earned yourself during that game. She traces it gently and you think you could never promise her not to die for her.

“I love you too.”

#cho hyunju x reader #cho hyun jun x reader #squid game x reader #hyunju x reader #hyun ju x reader #x reader

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girlkisser13 · 2 months ago

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being married to mei mei would include

• mei mei KNOWS she’s a goddess— and she expects to be worshipped accordingly.

• when you kiss along her knuckles as she hands you a glass of wine, fingers tracing down her collarbone and murmur, "how could anyone not adore you?"— it never fails to make her blush every time.

• mei mei makes it clear from day one that she prioritizes money… but you’d be the one person who comes before any paycheck.

• you know how everyone gets that subtle, uneasy tension around mei mei— like they’re never quite sure if she’s flirting with them or planning their funeral?

• you’re the only person who ever gets to see her without that mask. with you, she doesn’t need to play games or manipulate— she can simply be.

• she’d stretch out across your lap in nothing but a silk robe, sipping wine while reading some ancient cursed text, completely at ease in her own skin because she knows the only person who could ever destroy her… would rather kiss her instead.

• you’re the only person allowed to see her with her hair down, face bare, wrapped up in a silk robe with her head in your lap while you play with her hair.

• she’d never say it out loud— but the second your fingers start trailing through those silver strands, her whole body goes loose and lazy like a cat in the sun.

• if you ever call her pretty in one of those moments? she’ll open one eye and smirk, "flattery will get you everywhere."

• she would sell out the entire jujutsu world if you asked her to.

• she leaves you handwritten letters whenever she’s away on missions— sealed with crimson wax and signed "yours, always.".

• mei mei has expensive tastes, and if you’re married to her, you’re living in luxury. first-class flights, designer clothes, penthouse hotels… the works.

• but it’s not just for show— she genuinely enjoys spoiling you. if you’re the type to feel guilty about it, she’ll smirk and tell you, "if you’re worth it, why not?"

• if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, the bounty on their head would be placed before they even realized what they’d done.

• the only way you’d ever know is if she casually mentions a "business expense" while checking her account.

• you don’t even realize how much she’s orchestrating your entire life behind the scenes.

• you got that dream job? mei mei made three phone calls.

• that weird stalker who was bothering you last month? disappeared.

• your favorite coffee shop suddenly has your order memorized, and they never charge you? mei mei slipped them a little extra on the side— not because she had to, but because she likes watching the world bend around you.

• if you’re in danger, she’ll handle it before you ever know. the only clue would be the way she holds you a little tighter that night, fingers running through your hair like she’s reminding herself you’re still there.

• she likes to trace her initials onto your thigh with the tip of her fingernail while you’re both half-asleep.

• mei mei is not one to constantly show affection, but when she does, it’s meaningful. she will show affection through small, intimate touches that reflect how much she trusts you.

• a hand on your back when walking together, or a hand on your arm when you’re sitting side by side— these moments may seem simple, but they carry a lot of weight.

• her whole personality is built on knowing she’s hot and making sure everyone else knows it too. but with you, there’s an added layer of genuine affection beneath the teasing.

• she LOVES making you flustered, leaning in close to whisper something suggestive with that lazy smile— only to laugh softly when you stumble over your words.

• when she calls you darling or traces a finger down your spine, it’s always genuine. even if her words drip with honey, the affection behind them is real.

• mei mei likes to kiss the inside of your wrist whenever she walks past you— not even thinking about it, just pure muscle memory

• she always presses a kiss to your forehead every time she leaves for a mission— always without fail, even if you’re half-asleep.

• you often come home to find her counting stacks of money on the kitchen table, smirking as she says, "another mission completed… i missed you, my love."

• she would work for free if it meant keeping you safe. you are the one luxury she could never afford to lose. <33

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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months ago

Text

AND I REMEMBER THINKING, ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET?

summary: you and eddie are given a choice.

warnings: strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite (still), the sort of fake dating plot has officially entered the chat, sugar (reader) is specifically an idiot, minors dni

wc: 5.4k+

a/n: dedicating this chapter as a blatant birthday gift to @fracturedarkness. i am so grateful to have you in my life and absolutely adore you to the stars and back <3 thank you for supporting this story so much, and for always just generally being such an absolutely lovely person. we are so undeserving of your presence and light. ily so much my dear friend <3

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.”

The lobby is cold as Matt’s words echo within the confines of your mind.

It’s cold enough that the front receptionist dons a cardigan as she types away at the computer, and the security guard wears a jacket worthy of a Chicago winter to identify himself. Cold enough to send a shiver up your spine as you trail behind Matt to the elevators.

Cold enough that innocent bystanders don’t notice the severely chilly shoulder you offer to Eddie the entire time.

You haven’t looked at him more than the one time when you approached the front door of the building, only offering him a fleeting glance before the two of you followed the path of his agent. It’s clear that Eddie should know his way as well as Matt does, but it doesn’t stop him from purposefully trailing behind you.

In an elevator full of mirrors, even when you should have no choice but to look at the man who has opened up a chasm within your chest, you keep strict eye contact with your own reflection. You can see Eddie in your peripherals, and you can see the look Matt offers him over your shoulder as well.

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you.

Eddie had kept you a secret.

Especially now that I know the truth.

Or spun you into a blatant lie. You don’t know which one is worse.

“You know,” Matt mutters as he fiddles with a key ring, unlocking the door to what is clearly his office. The plaque on the door says his name. “Normally, when your agent is calling you repeatedly in the dead of night, it means answer him.”

It’s clear he’s speaking to Eddie, so you let him answer as you slide in past Matt as he holds open the door, “I did answer.”

“And then hung up.”

“I was busy.”

“Clearly.”

The office is surprisingly large, probably a deliberate illusion aided by the panoramic windows that occupy an entire wall across from the door. There’s shelves of awards and photos, cleanly lined up in pristine condition, a few even appearing to be copies of ones you’d spotted in Eddie’s apartment. Plated plaques engraved with achievements, photos of moments of the utmost importance framed by sleek black wood. Photos of Eddie, photos of Corroded Coffin, photos of unfamiliar faces. There’s a few empty spots that reveal the need for dusting, but there’s nothing that makes you particularly ache.

Except for one photo. A photo taken the day that Eddie had clearly signed Matt on as his agent; a photo of him shaking Matt’s hand, the smile on his face never having been more superficial. It couldn’t have been more than a month after the tour that you’d left him during.

“I don’t understand why the front cover of some stupid ass magazine is so important,” Eddie grumbles as he follows you now, both of you deciding to stand and not yet sit in the empty chairs on the closest side of what must be Matt’s massive desk, “The tabloids run rumors about my dating life all the time-”

“Exactly.”

The door slams shut behind Matt, and he doesn’t bother to lock it. You’re sure whatever is about to transpire, Matt has informed the entire building to leave the three of you alone as you talk.

“The tabloids are constantly running headlines about you and your mysterious affairs,” Matt continues as he rounds the desk, heading straight for a fairly comfortable looking office chair, “You’re always adding more fuel to the fire. And the label is getting sick of it, Eds.”

There’s an edge to his tone that has you taking a seat the moment he waves for the two of you to do so. Eddie to your left, and a shelf of all that he is now to your right. A life he’s built without you. A life he drafted the blueprints for with you.

“I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call him Eds in years,” you whisper under your breath, staring at the grey carpet below the soles of your feet.

Neither man pays you any mind for the time being.

“I can’t control the press, Matt.”

“You could. You just don’t want to.”

“To-may-toe, to-maw-toe,” Eddie waves off into the air, slumping into the stagnant chair he now occupies, “My job is to make music, not make some perfect image.”

“No, my job is to keep your image digestible, at the very least,” Matt is scowling so deeply, you’re convinced you’re watching new wrinkles imprint into his skin in real time, “You and I both know that these days, it’s about more than the music. People need to like you so you can sell records. And all you’ve done is an exceptional job at pissing the people off.”

You finally, finally spare a glance to Eddie, and his glare matches Matt’s, “It’s never been an issue before.”

Matt lets out a scoff, making your head whip to him, “Oh, no. It certainly has been. The only time it wasn’t an issue was before you signed me as your agent.”

“That’s why I hired you,” Eddie smiles, but there’s not an ounce of joy behind the curl of his lips, “Right?”

Matt nods for a few beats, before he turns his head at a leisurely place to level you with a stare. The glare melts microscopically, some form of pity behind his older eyes.

“You did, and that’s the issue.”

When Matt’s hands come up to rest on his desk, you notice him immediately toying with the corner of the shortest stack of papers on his desk. Only a few pages, and you don’t miss the several blank spaces left deliberately throughout the top page.

A contract.

“I’ve done the best that I could with what you’ve given me to work with, but…” Matt trails off, eyes darting to Eddie only momentarily before focusing on you once more, “You haven’t been submitting nearly as many songs as your contract outlined. You’ve been busier making headlines than you have been making albums. I- They’re pissed off, Eddie. The label is pissed off now, and they’re up my ass.” “Sounds like a you problem.” Now, it’s you glaring at Eddie.

All his hackles are raised, the portrait of who he’s been trying to convince everyone that he has become over the last two years painting over all the lines of the man you’d been digging after these last few weeks. Overshadowing the promise of a good man by a simple, jagged tone of voice.

“No, it’s a you problem,” you snap, making both men finally have no choice but to acknowledge you, “You’re the one who wants to be a rockstar, not Matt. If you’d pull your head out of your ass long enough to actually listen to him, maybe he could actually help you.”

It’s crueler than necessary. A slap to Eddie’s awe-stricken face. “I-” he starts, but your glare sharpens, eyes narrowing at him as he tries to ready a counter-argument, and it’s clear the fight dies on his tongue as he sighs, “Fine – fine. What do we do about it, Matt?”

When the unspoken battle fizzles out, reluctantly on your part and eagerly on Eddie’s, Matt is simply onlooking with the faintest of smiles.

“What?” Eddie questions immediately, clearly just as confused by you in his sudden change in demeanor, “Why are you smiling?”

“Her.”

He nods curtly in your direction, grin growing a bit wider. It does little to answer the question.

“Me?” you ask, lifting a ginger finger to rest against your chest.

“You,” Matt repeats, and nods a bit more eagerly for a few seconds before he rifles those papers in front of him again, “Just now. You watched the way we were going back and forth. I can’t get through to Eddie-” a short pause in which Eddie almost speaks up, but one lift of your hand to signal him to stay quiet is effective, “-but you clearly can. He went from argumentative to agreeable in seconds. He became digestible, all because of you.”

Your stomach sinks. You can see where this is going, even if Eddie can’t, as you croak out, “It could have been a one-off. Sheer luck.”

The contracts. The headlines. The meeting with both of you.

“I don’t think it was.”

You’ve read about this somewhere, in some awful and painfully predictable romance book. You’ve seen a movie about this before, in some rundown and eerily empty theater as the cheesy rom-com occupies the big screen. “I can’t control Ed-” you start, but Matt is quick to cut you off.

“You’ve gotten more out of him in the last three weeks than I have in the last year,” Matt points out, leaning forward on his desk, palms making the wood creak, “He’s in the studio, making more music than I can even keep track of. He’s willing to get involved in the band's decisions, not even sleeping through the meetings with the suits these days.”

Eddie scoffs as he shifts uncomfortably, “Maybe I’m just inspired.”

“I’m sure you are,” Matt readily agrees, “By her.”

The fucking contracts. You’ve already had to sign on to be involved in Eddie’s life for a full three months, smoke and mirrors about closure and just surviving these months having filtered through your lungs since the moment you stepped foot in that conference room.

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you.

This was about to become about far more than just arranging a party for a single release. This was about to become about far more than just getting closure.

“Just get it over with,” you whisper, staring blankly at papers you can practically read already, even upside down. You’re not an idiot – you realize now what Matt, what the label wants. “Say it.”

Eddie’s still in the dark as he glances at you, “Say what?”

Matt shares a knowing look with you. Almost sad, almost remorseful. As if he isn’t about to ruin your life. As if he isn’t about to ask you to burn down every single thing you had built up with your own bare hands.

Just over a month ago, you had been convinced you’d finally closed the chapter on this part of your life. You had let the ink dry, you had let the fresh pages cool, and you had damned the entire novel of you and Eddie to the attic of your past. To gather dust, to be eaten away by the moths, to be forgotten as you moved along with life – you swore it was finally over.

And now this. Now, you were contracted to help him with the damn release party for a song certainly about you. Now, Matt was about to ask you to sign away the last of your sanity, all for the sake of the man you thought you’d finally slammed the door on.

“You think I can control Eddie, that I could be good for his image,” you say flatly, not sparing a glance at the problem child beside you, “You think I can fix the mess he’s made, because you can’t. You’re assuming, and assuming, and assuming,” you take a deep breath, moments away from breaking apart, not letting it show as you lean back in the chair, “Assuming is bad for business, Matt.”

To your surprise, Matt nods in agreement, “It is. So don’t let me make an ass of myself – prove the assumptions right,” Finally, he grabs a pen, bringing it to lay atop of the contracts. “I’ve already pitched the idea to the big shots upstairs. They’ve already approved it.”

Eddie lurches forward, “What idea?”

Matt ignores Eddie’s question, the conversation spiraling into tunnel vision between you two, “Again, I am sorry.”

He slides the contracts in a circle, finally making them legible to you and Eddie.

PUBLIC RELATIONS (PR) AGREEMENT.

Eddie takes the time to read the sentences, littered with blank spaces perfectly sized to fit your legal names. Spots for dates, empty boxes for initials.

A neatly wrapped up present – a professional PR stunt in a contract.

“Matt, what is this?” Eddie’s voice is shaking as he gets about halfway through the page, “What the fuck does this mean?”

“PR stunts are common in the industry,” Common with problem rockstars, he means, “Sometimes they’re simple agreements to benefit both parties, and sometimes they’re last ditch attempts at saving someone’s image. It’s the latter, for you.”

Eddie isn’t piecing it together fast enough. Or maybe he has, and he’s just in denial.

“Say it fucking plainly, or I’ll leave this office and-”

“It’s time to kill your bachelor image,” Matt grabs a second pen, working mechanically as though he’s gone into autopilot, “Tame the bad boy image, as I put it to the suits.”

“You want me to agree to be Eddie’s fake girlfriend,” you take over the explaining, since Matt won’t just say it, “You want us to sign a contract, and promise to play nice in public. Act so in love the entire public forgets that Eddie ever trashed a hotel room or stuck his tongue down some random’s throat-”

“I haven’t done that publicly in months,” he snaps, now looking harshly at you, clearly infuriated the more he reads.

“No, but the rumors still circulate,” you recall your Google search that night before Eddie came properly barrelling back into your life, “The only thing people love to gossip about more than someone’s downfall, is their love life.”

“Exactly.” Matt clicks one pen, and puts it closer to Eddie. “So help me out, and give them something good to talk about for once.”

You need a moment; you need to consider it all, you need to weigh out the pros and cons. The room is suffocating, all that dust you’d previously noticed now itching your throat and the fabric of the chair stabbing far too uncomfortably against your skin through your clothes. The large windows can’t stop the walls from closing in.

“No,” Eddie barks out, throwing himself back from the paper as though it might burn him, “No.”

“Eddie, please trust me when I say-”

“I’m not doing this – I’m not doing this to her.”

“You’ve already done it to me,” you laugh bitterly, leaning forward and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see stars. Until the space behind your eyes aches. “The headline went viral online, right?”

“Yeah,” guilt seeps into Matt’s words, “It did.”

“Have they figured out who I am?”

The they in question being the fans – the they in question being the tabloids. If just one person recognizes you and cracks the code, you’ll be the talk of the town for at least a month, regardless if you sign the contract or not.

You’re the first girl to ever be taken back to the infamous Rockstar’s apartment. The first to ever make it past the threshold of the bars, the clubs, the afterparties.

It’s already a big deal.

“Not from what I’ve seen,” When Matt slides a pen over to you, he makes a point to not click it. A choice is very clearly being given. Eddie is expected to sign, no longer being given a choice, but you? You don’t have to do this, “There've been a few D list model’s names thrown out, and a few people thought it might even be a B lister in a wig, but… they don’t know it’s you, yet.”

Yet. But they will, eventually. The general public is capable of astonishing things when they set their minds to it. No doubt, there would be a way for them to resurface old photos of you and Eddie prior to the band skyrocketing to success, or someone who knows you will recognize your blurry side profile in the paparazzi’s pictures.

Eddie doesn’t budge on his stance, arms crossed and eyes blazing, “What’s the alternative?”

“Excuse me?” Matt raises a brow.

“The alternative,” one of Eddie’s ringed hands flourishes through the air, “What can we do instead of this?”

You already know what Matt is about to say before he opens his mouth. You already know the ultimatum about to be presented to the two of you.

“You only have two options,” he sighs, a pregnant pause before he continues, “Either you sign this contract, we arrange the fake dates and press, so on and so forth. Or you cut off all communications. The two of you are never even seen in the same city again, if possible. You,” he pauses to nod towards you, “Will sign an NDA before disappearing from Eddie’s circle entirely. And you,” he then nods to Eddie, a bit more stern as he looks to his client, “will have to go through the process of signing some other sort of damage control scheme. Likely either an arrangement with someone else of the label’s choosing, or a contract of celibacy for the next year or so. Put it into writing that you’ll be the angel child of the label for an indefinite amount of time.”

You’re still reeling a bit from the threat of having to vanish from Eddie’s life once more, for good this time, when you catch onto that last part, “If I don’t agree to this, you’ll just replace me with someone else?”

The image coming to mind through the fog makes you sick, and not for the expected reasons. It’s not the image of Eddie with his hands on someone else that makes your skin crawl. It’s not the picture of Eddie singing songs on a stage every night, songs written about you, and claiming they’re about some other lover in the crowd.

It’s the look on his face.

The fall of every muscle, the spark of fear behind umber eyes. The immediate fiddling of rings that exposes all the anxiety building up beneath his skin.

The thought of being in his shoes, and being forced to pretend to love a stranger, all because of a few mistakes.

And - okay, well, a few mistakes is an understatement. Eddie did this to himself. He had dug this grave, shovelful by shovelful, all by his own doing. He had made his bed; he should have to sleep in it.

But you can’t. You can’t let him when you see the shakes in his breath and the sincere regret, when you recall every single moment from the night before with such striking clarity. Even after all that the two of you have been through, you can’t resist that inherent urge to protect him.

You can’t quiet the voice that whispers that you still care for him, and you still want to be there for him, even at your own destruction.

He opens his mouth, surely about to seal his fate and agree to the one thing you know he doesn’t want to do but will for your sake, when you beat him to the punch line.

“I’ll do it.”

You don’t want to vanish again. You want to stay. You want to fight.

“What?” Eddie looks up to you, and he looks close to tears, “What, no. You’re not doing this-”

You ignore him, swallowing hard as you nearly jump out of the chair to retrieve the pen and glance over the paper until you find a random spot to begin signing at. The click of the pen drowns out his protest, and the angry scribbling across the paper shuts him up entirely.

The signature is messier than the one you’d scanned into the computer for all your emails, but it will do.

“Why would you do that?” Eddie asks, eyes wild as he reaches out to take the pen from you. But it doesn’t matter – the damage is done, “Why the fuck would you sign that?”

“You heard him,” you try to keep a steady tone, you really do, but you fail miserably. You refuse to look in Eddie’s eyes, instead choosing to channel all your glaring and all your anger towards Matt, “It was this or I leave again. It was the easiest option for everyone involved.”

Matt is riddled with disbelief – he clearly hadn’t thought you’d do it. He had thought he’d lost the battle.

“I…” he glances down at the paper, avoiding looking at Eddie’s hands that still hovers to snatch away the pen, instead choosing to point at another blank line towards the top of the page before he clears his throat to assume a professional voice, “Please print your name here.”

Eddie’s hand falls away, and as you carve out the letters on the parchment, you swear it’s your blood staining the page rather than the ink.

—

“Are you fucking insane?”

Once the two of you had finished filling out all the dreadful paperwork, Matt had offered to call a car to take you both back to the studio.

“I’m not the one screaming in the street right now.”

You were starting to regret not requesting a separate car from Eddie.

“Why the fuck would you sign that contract?” he continues his tirade, hands flailing as he stands before you on the sidewalk. “We had options, Sugar! Fucking options-”

“Shitty options,” you finally snap, leaning around his figure, glancing down the busy street for any sign of the black SUV that would be picking you up, “We had shitty options, and I chose the lesser of the two evils.”

“Lesser of two evils?” he laughs bitterly, hand shoving down into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes, “I was ready to tell him to just get one of those D list models on the phone. I had one rule, one fucking rule, and we’ve managed to break it with one flick of a pen.”

As he pulls out a cigarette, lighter appearing in his other hand as he cups the stick between his teeth, you decide to humor him, “And what would that one rule be? Hm?”

He takes his time. Lights the cigarette, takes a long drag, holds it in his lungs as he shoves the lighter back deep within his pocket. His eyes find yours carefully just as the first wisps of smoke slip free from between his lips, breeze ruffling his curls across his forehead.

“Keep you out of it.”

Your mouth snaps shut just as another strong breeze whips around the two of you.

What the fuck can you say to that?

“Keep me out of it?” you repeat his words in dubiety, creases forming between your brows, “What do you mean keep me out of it?”

You’re going in circles today, continuously returning to asking questions you already know the answers to. It doesn’t take a genius to decipher what Eddie means by his rule.

The notebook of songs that have yet to see the light of day. The way his past was seemingly erased the moment the band shot into stardom. The lack of your name and memory having ever been so much as uttered in an interview. The fact that even Matt hadn’t known the truth about you two.

You had originally been hurt at the erasure of you from the history of Eddie Munson, but there’s something breaking behind his eyes currently that offers explanation.

“Out of this entire shit show,” his breaths are hard and heavy as he flicks the ash off the cigarette, making no move to take a second drag, “Out of all the rumors, out of all the fucking headlines. I just- I just didn’t want them to ruin you, too.”

And yet, here you were.

“What’s done is done,” you mutter, an SUV turning onto the street that you have a hunch is heading your way, “Not like we can unsign the contracts.”

The car is, in fact, yours. Eddie opens the door after stomping out his cigarette. He holds it open long enough for you to climb in first, following quickly after and slamming the vehicle shut. Cutting off all the noise of the outside world and immediately leaving the two of you to be alone, properly alone, once more.

Save for, of course, the driver.

But the man doesn’t even so much as glance back at the two of you in the backseat before he’s slowly setting the car into motion once more, already beginning to navigate the roads back to the studio.

Until suddenly, Eddie is piping up, an irritable voice capable of echoing about the inside of the SUV.

“Take us back to my apartment,” he demands, but when you glare at him from the side, he clears his throat and adds on a measly, “Please.”

It’s a start. There’s a long road ahead, but it’s a start.

You expected the entire ride to be filled with arguments. Under the assumption that Eddie would be too riled up to care about the driver’s presence, you sit tensely and wait for him to throw the first punch once more. Make a comment about what you’d last said before getting in the car, once again scrutinize the decision you had made. He’d never been silent in his anger; he was always loud, always made it known. He’d always claimed, back in Hawkins, he’d rather you know he’s angry so the two of you could fix it.

But he doesn’t say a word. His jaw twitches with irritations, his eyes stay focused on the passing sidewalk out his window rather than you, and his entire body remains an impenetrable distance from your own. Even on the roughest of turns, he never allows his knee to so much as bump yours.

He’s not making it known. He’s not offering the option to fix it.

You fall into old habits immediately, youth insecurities as you simmer in the silence and the boil of a fight that has to happen eventually – right? The fight is unavoidable. The fight had already technically begun outside of Matt’s office. He has to make it known at some point; he has to say what needs to be said so the two of you can just fix it.

But then a hoarse voice in the back of your mind whispers, what if he doesn’t see this as something worth fixing?

Had you even seen it as something worth fixing?

You had been the one to leave originally. You had been the one to not make it known to him all those years ago, never using your words to tell him how you had felt and leave the door for redemption wide open. You had been the one that had evaluated the situation, and for some strange reason, deemed your relationship with someone you had truly believed you’d spend the rest of your life with as something to just run from.

By the time the car has arrived outside of Eddie’s building, you’re a mess. Metaphorically, physically, mentally. A tragic mess.

He still holds open the door for you, still nods at your squeak of thanks as you shuffle past him. He still mutters a pitiful goodbye to his driver. And he still won’t look at you, won’t speak to you.

Something inside of you burns. Had he even intended for you to follow him into the apartment? Or had he hoped you would have given your address to the driver as he slid out of the seat, set your eyes on your own home and away from him?

It’s funny, the way one quick signature and you’re back to square one of your youth. Insecure and unsure, second guessing every choice. The entire persona you had built up over two long years has officially crumbled, and you don’t even have to look into a mirror to absolutely hate the girl staring back now.

At least before, the catch of your reflection in the shining walls of an elevator wouldn’t make you sick to your stomach. At least in those two long years, you could stand the sound of your own breathing.

Each step down the hall and towards Eddie’s front door after the quiet elevator ride is haunted. More self-doubt, more anger at yourself. The pad of the soles of your shoes against carpeting is a drumming heartbeat building up to something.

That something snaps when Eddie unlocks the door.

He motions for you to enter first, but you stand your ground. Staring him down, silently urging him to just fucking look at you.

“After you,” he mumbles when you make no move to walk past him, waving his hand a second time as he continues to stare at the ground.

You were both different people. Personas don’t just crumble because you sign a contract. You were still someone head-strong, someone capable, someone who could be sure of herself. You weren’t some naive child, lost in the thrills of your first grandiose love. And Eddie was no longer the boy you’d spent long days and longer nights with at Lover’s Lake, and at local record shops every Sunday. He was no longer the person you’d kiss dizzy as the incense burned on the shelf. He was someone new, someone different, someone unfamiliar.

And yet, even in knowing all of this, attempting to redrill it all into your head once more, you also know that some things will never have to change. Some things between the two of you will always stay the same.

You want one of those things to be making the anger known.

“Look at me,” the demand comes out soft, a bit more feeble than you’d wanted, but it still comes out all the same. The words fall from your lips, and you swear you see Eddie flinch.

He doesn’t look up.

“Eddie,” you say, a bit more urgently, a tad bit more desperate, “I know you’re pissed so-”

“I don’t wanna do this. Not here.”

You take a sharp breath, and bite back the urge to spit out tough luck, “Well, I do.”

“Do you?” When his head finally snaps up and his eyes finally meet yours, it’s as if ice shards have replaced all your blood, chilling your system to its core, “Do you really? You wanna finish that fight we started back in the studio, right here – right outside of my apartment?”

There it is: the anger. It strains every syllable of every word of his. But there’s still hope, all because of one little word.

The fight we started.

We. Not just you, not just him. We.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, something in you eager at him finally just acknowledging it once again. His silence had been cruel, his brooding had been torture, and it’s easier to hear the venom he directs to you than nothing at all. “I do. I want to fight.”

Did something just soften in his eyes, or are you just delusional? Are you that desperate to crave and imagine him feeling all the same things you were feeling? You want him to want this; you want him to want the fight, because then, it means there’s still something to fix.

“Can we at least do it inside the apartment?” he flatly requests, lips a fine line as he levels you with that same dead stare. Dead, with glimmers of something buried alive beneath the surface.

Something. Anything.

He was never a stain. He isn’t an old maroon, seeped into the cotton of your existence, rusting over your past. He’s something here, something tangible, in this very moment. He’s fresh wine rushing down your chest, he’s vibrant scarlet sticking to your skin. The potential of a stain, but for now, the wound is still wet. Still fresh. Still something you can wipe away, if you play your cards right.

You walk through his door, shoulder brushing his chest, and you almost wonder if you’re even willing to play your cards right. This time, you almost consider if what you want, what you’ve always wanted, is for Eddie to leave a stain on you that could never be cleaned away.

After all, what is a stain if not a reminder of something loved, something worth keeping, fixed or not?

The door shuts softly behind Eddie as he trails in behind you, and with a final sigh and click of the lock, he turns to you.

“Alright. Let’s fight.”

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#ghost's stories #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things #if it's bad close your eyes #lord help us i'm getting too flowery and metaphorical again

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