#don’t even get me started on my personal life too

[runariya]

Beyond Probability JJK (m.)

summary: Matching with an idol? Unlikely. But with a 99% compatibility? Beyond probability. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolvers, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: fluff, fluff, a bit of self doubt, fluff, fluff, explicit sexual content, shower sex, unprotected sex, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4k

a/n: It’s a rly cute and short oneshot, light and mainly fluff, nothing too deep, no big words etc this time. Just had to get it out of my system since the idea’s been on my mind for months now (unedited bc I fell ill halfway through writing it 🤒)

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

Your biological clock’s ticking—has been for some years now—and even though you’re only now nearing 30, you’re painfully aware that the life you pictured as a kid might never come true.

It’s not like you’re unstable in who you are or what you’re doing. You’re fairly successful at your job, you’ve got your own place, and you’re more social than most people these days. Still, you’re only what most would call average-looking, and even though you’ve got a good career, you’re too soft to keep it up forever. You picture yourself more as a loving wife and mother than a corporate boss bitch climbing the ladder of success.

That’s also why your dating life has been rocky all along. Men see what you put out there, but they don’t like who you really are or what you want from life, which has left you single for most of it.

So, when a new project starts—after the K-pop industry finally acknowledges that idols need partnerships and a life of their own, and fans finally understand that these people are human too, that they deserve to experience love and happiness like everyone else—you decide to take your chances too.

Funnily enough, all the labels have teamed up, hiring not only the best scientists and psychologists from Korea but from around the world to create a program that can find ideal matches for their idols. Sure, science shouldn’t determine who you fall in love with, but… what if it could?

After being pre-selected—just to confirm you’re not some crazed fan—you’ve spent over two weeks going through tests. Recorded interviews, personality assessments, even physical evaluations… now you’re staring at your company’s computer screen, listening to Dr. Song explain the results through the phone. 

“Ninety-nine percent?”

“Yes. The chances of such a high compatibility score are next to impossible. We see it as a perfect match and would like to introduce you to your match.”

“Sure, of course.” Even though your voice is steady, you can feel your nerves flaring up like never before.

“Is tomorrow at 8 p.m. alright for you?”

“Yes, that works for me.”

“Perfect, we’ll see you then.”

Well, joke’s on you, you didn’t expect this outcome. 

Meeting an idol feels surreal, and the closer you get to 8 p.m. the next day, the more you can feel the anxiety and doubts inside you rising. Every last detail in Dr. Song’s calm, clinical rundown replays in your mind, the ninety-nine percent match, the endless rounds of testing, the surreal realisation that, somehow, all those numbers and algorithms miraculously spat out a name next to yours. 

You want to trust that there’s a reason for this, that somehow science isn’t just working with chance, but the tension of actually meeting someone this special is so overwhelming you barely notice yourself entering the lab building until you’re standing outside Dr. Song’s office.

“Right on time,” she chirps, giving you an approving nod. She seems to sense your nerves, and as she leads you down a hallway you’ve never been before, she gives you a reassuring smile. “I know this is all a lot. But he’s likely feeling the same way. The tests told us that he’s, well, quite like you.”

Her words would make you laugh in any other situation, though disbelief and a strange kind of comfort floods through you still. Like you. An idol, standing here in a lab somewhere to meet some random stranger, feeling just as out of place as you. You’re not sure of that but still like to think it must be true. 

You don’t have time to process it fully before you’re led into a quiet room with yellowish walls so plain they almost blur in the corners of your vision, a low, comfortable couch and a couple of chairs standing there and none of the lab equipment that surrounded you in the testing rooms all those weeks ago. 

And then you spot him, sitting on the couch, alone. He stands the second you walk in, hands half in his pockets, a slight, almost unsure smile grazing his lips as he glances down at you. He’s got that casual look about him, the same dark eyes you’ve seen a hundred times on a screen that somehow feel warmer and more human here. 

He looks not quite better than he does on screen, but not worse either. Somehow, he’s realer, if that’s a word—close enough that you can see the little flecks of colour in his irises, the slight tension in his posture, the faintest trace of nerves hiding under his composure.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s voice is lower, softer than you expect from an idol. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.” There’s a pause, and you can tell he’s just as unsure what to do with the space between you two as you are. The click of the door makes you turn around briefly, only to realise Dr. Song has left you both alone. “This is, um, weird, right?”

He nods, a quick, breathy laugh breaking through. “Very. I mean, this isn’t exactly a ‘normal’ kind of meeting, right?”

His words are awkward but disarming, and suddenly, you’re aware of all the tiny, meticulous details of him that somehow make him feel more relatable than his polished, on-screen persona. The way his hand keeps moving to rub against his thigh or abs, his tongue playing with his lips and piercing ever so slightly—everything about him is familiar but also somehow close enough to feel completely new.

“I don’t think I was ready for this,” you admit. You aren’t really talking to him but more like letting your own thoughts slip out in the safest way possible, like saying it makes it feel less absurd.

“Honestly, same.” He laughs, and you think there’s a light flutter in your chest now. “I kept thinking about this whole ninety-nine percent thing. Like… how does that even work? Isn’t it supposed to feel, I don’t know, obvious? Like you know the moment you see someone?”

You nod, understanding exactly what he means, and somehow you move on autopilot, walking towards him and sitting down on that couch with him beside you. It feels like you should both somehow know, like there’s a sign or an instant connection, something that would make all of this feel simple, easy. But it’s just the two of you in a quiet room, barely knowing each other, held together by nothing but a number on a report.

“Yeah, that’s so wild. I didn’t think I’d have a match, this close to a hundred even less. Might be a glitch if our score is this high.”

Jungkook nods with sparkling eyes, seemingly relieved by your honesty and humour. “Yeah, I get that. I kept thinking about it too. Wondering if maybe the tests were wrong, or maybe I was just…thinking too much.” He lets out a sigh, his gaze meeting yours for a long, meaningful second. “But I think maybe this is about finding out, right? Not having it all make sense right away.”

“Hm, makes sense.” You giggle, because what else can you do in the presence of him.

The two of you sit there in a momentary silence, as if testing each other, feeling out the small boundaries that keep you both distant.

“So, what did the report tell you about me?” You ask the question half-jokingly, trying to break the quiet, but also curious. You want to know what he knows, how much of this supposed ninety-nine percent compatibility is actually something that either of you feel. 

He lets out a silent breath, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. “Honestly, not as much as you’d think. They told me you were kind of… soft-spoken but resilient? And that you have a job that’s, uh, stable and…” He trails off, the tips of his ears slightly pink, like he’s embarrassed to keep going.

“And?” You can’t help but push further—not maliciously, just way too curious and playful for your own good. Jungkook’s expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised, and then to a look that’s just as playful.

“And that we’re, apparently, very much sexually compatible.”

Really, you should be the one feeling embarrassed or shy now, but you can’t help the laugh that slips out. You know exactly what he’s hinting at—your report clearly showed the same.

“Well, it might be not wrong. And they told me…” You pause, realising that you barely remember the details in the face of the reality in front of you but alas. “They said you’d be a good match because, I think, there was something about humour?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Humour? Never heard of it.” And it makes you laugh all over again. “I feel like they just told us things we’d want to hear, to make it seem easier and normal.”

His words hit close to home, but they’re strangely comforting in the way he says them. You reckon, he’s just as bewildered by this as you are, maybe even more so. And somehow, in the middle of all the awkwardness, you find yourself genuinely smiling at him, naturally gravitating towards him, finding that there’s a softness and reassurance in his gaze, a gentleness that cuts through your nerves like a knife through melted butter in the sun. 

You start talking more freely after that, exchanging stories that are too mundane to make sense in any real context but feel right here. You tell him about your last trip to the beach, how you got sunburned and spent the whole evening sitting on your balcony, nursing it with iced water and aloe, wishing for a helping hand that you didn’t have. He laughs, nodding along as if he can picture it exactly and tells you about how he tried to make pasta he ate in Italy for the first time a few months back and ended up burning the whole batch, because no one was by his side, so badly his kitchen smelled like smoke for days.

The more you talk, the more you notice the little things about him that aren’t so polished, aren’t so perfect, and make him feel more human and real than anyone you ever met. He has a way of listening, eyes intent on yours, like he’s trying to pick apart every word to understand it better. When he laughs, it’s with his whole face, even body, not the careful, composed look of an idol but a natural, carefree laugh that makes you feel like maybe he’s as relieved as you are to be here, to have someone he doesn’t have to impress. 

At some point, you both lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts but somehow still connected. The tension from earlier has faded away, replaced by a soothing aura you know you don’t want to miss for a day in your life.

Eventually, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes sucking you in without much resistance. “I kept thinking this would feel forced, you know? Like we’d be sitting here, struggling to find anything in common.” He leans back, drapes his arm around the back of where you’re sitting, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “But… it doesn’t feel that way. You feel… I don’t know, right?”

The slight flutter in your chest has now swelled into a full-blown hurricane, and you’re not sure if it’s that ninety-nine percent compatibility causing it. But you don’t let yourself think too much—not when you’ve both been inching closer with each word, not when you take a chance and lean in, resting your head against his side. Especially not when his arm settles directly over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, his other hand finding yours, fingers intertwining just to see how it feels.

“Yeah, it feels right. I really like this.”

As you absently play with his fingers, breathing in his scent for the first time and deciding it’s like heaven, you let yourself trust science. Because this feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.

While the first meeting with Jungkook went better than you’d ever hoped, you’re painfully aware of your overthinking nature. Overthinking in a way that makes it painfully clear there are countless women out there who, on the surface, would seem a better visual match for him than you.

Overthinking to the point where you wonder why Jungkook would even need matchmaking when he could so easily choose a partner on his own. It’s also why staying focused at work isn’t exactly easy today, knowing that soon his label will be sending a car to pick you up for your next meeting with him.

You understand the precautions they’ve taken and completely agree it’s better to meet in a private, safe space rather than making headlines this early on. That’s why, as the tinted car arrives, you feel a bit more at ease than you have all day.

Soon enough, you’re driving down the path to the label’s underground garage, and while you fix your makeup real quick, the car comes to a stop. The driver nods and guides you towards the lift, where the lights are dim and everything has this quiet, professional atmosphere you’ve only seen on screen.

You try to take it all in, letting your thoughts settle just a bit more as you follow through to the hallways upstairs, past doors labelled with room numbers and studios, and then finally, you’re outside the door to Jungkook’s studio, right where you’re supposed to meet.

Your heart beats a little faster as you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out, “Come in,” and when you open the door, you find him leaning casually against the chair before his equipment with an easy smile that somehow manages to be both happy and slightly flirty. 

Again, Jungkook’s dressed just like uniquely him, with a few silver rings glinting on his fingers. And while you didn’t think he’d even get up to greet you, he steps forward and embraces you in hug so tight, it leaves you drowning in him. 

“Hey,” he greets with that disarming grin, eyes boring into you, taking in your formal work attire, as he gestures to the coffee set up besides his laptop. “Hope you don’t mind the casual vibe.”

You laugh a little, settling onto the free chair beside him, feeling a bit strange but somehow not. “I think it’s perfect. And to be honest, I don’t think I’d cope well with the whole five-star dining treatment and whatnot.”

He laughs, nodding in agreement, taking your purse from your hands and draping it casually over the back of his chair. The fact that he’s still so attentive, even though he’s clearly in his element here but completely relaxed, is rather fascinating and pulls you in even more.

Like the day before, talking with him comes easy, and while there’s nothing groundbreaking in your conversations, every word feels meaningful in the bigger picture.

Eventually, you feel yourself relaxing like you were at home by your own, getting comfortable enough to let out the thoughts that have been swimming in your head since last night. “I’ve thought a lot about how all of this could play out,” you admit, taking a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words, though knowing there won’t be any wrong words when talking with Jungkook. “And honestly, I’m not really interested in taking things public if they did work out. I know that’s probably strange to say, but I’m not cut out for the spotlight.”

He tilts his head, watching you thoughtfully. “No, it’s not strange at all. I get it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you go on, “I just want something real. A partner who’s loyal, someone who’s there because we get each other, not because we’re some public ‘it’ couple, parading around every chance we get. Does that sound crazy?”

He shakes his head, while he swings from one side to the other.  “Not at all. That actually sounds perfect to me.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you feel, for the first time, like there’s some truth to your report. “The whole ‘idol’ thing is just a job. It’s not who I am, not at the core. And having someone who sees it that way, is what I want too.”

It elates you to know that you could have something like this, with him,  someone you could genuinely share your life with.

Then, in a thoughtful voice, he asks, “What do you want for the future? I mean, outside all of this.” 

You take a breath, feeling a little nervous but wanting to be honest. It’s not like it’s news to him, seeing that this information’s written in the report he was handed. “I want something traditional. A home, a family, maybe staying home with kids, having that steady, grounded life. It sounds simple, I know, but it’s what I’ve always pictured.” You look up at him, expecting maybe a hint of judgement, but instead, you find him nodding, his eyes lighting up like a candle in the night.

“I don’t think that sounds simple at all, but meaningful.”

A shy smile forms on your lips as you add, “Sometimes I feel like people don’t see that side of things anymore, you know? Like everyone’s so focused on careers and success and everything else… and I get that, I do, but I’ve always just wanted something steady. Something I can hold on to.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers like second nature intertwine with yours, and the gesture is so simple yet so heartwarming that you feel like squealing out of happiness. “That’s exactly what I want too.” It’s nothing new to you too, but him saying that, seeing the honesty in his eyes, is better than any data shown to you. “I want that sense of home.”

You feel yourself falling a little harder, a little faster, and maybe that scares you a bit. You’ve seen the kind of attention he gets, the kind of girls that throw themselves at him, and it’s hard not to let those doubts creep in. Especially now. “I know this probably sounds insecure,” you start awkwardly, glancing away, “I think, I don’t know, maybe I’m not the kind of person someone like you would go for. I mean, you could have anyone, and not just because you’re an idol.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. And while his mouth opens to say something, the pull against your hand surprises you as much as him settling you in his lab. “Hey, don’t think like that. I’m here because I want to be. And trust me, I’m not looking for ‘anyone’. I’m looking for someone who gets me. And that someone is you, no?”

The look in his eyes is so genuine, so unguarded, that it’s hard to keep your heart from doing all sorts of stunts. He’s not the polished idol right now; he’s just Jungkook, being flirty, being compassionate, being so him, sitting in a cosy studio with his tattoos, his piercings, his moles, his beautiful smile, his whole presence more comfortable and inviting than you could have imagined.

And as he sits there, looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, you realise that you definitely don’t have to doubt this. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself believe that he’s here because he wants to be, that he’s falling for you irrevocably just as you’re falling for him. 

“Sooo… that means?” You know you need to be brave now, because if this isn’t a dream, you’d never forgive yourself for not taking the leap.

“That means, if you want to, I’d love to have you as my girlfriend.”

“Isn’t it a bit rushed?” You don’t actually think so, but you still need to be sure.

“I’m all in if you are. I don’t want to waste any more time, and even though it’s just a report, I can feel there’s real truth behind it.”

Fast forward seven months, and you find yourself pressed against the shower wall like you do every night. But this time, it’s different—just hours ago, you made your first public appearance on a music show with Jungkook, just because you both felt ready, where he was not only nominated for Best Singer of the Year but won as well.

“Koo, right there, right there.”

It still amazes you how his cock seems to find your g-spot as soon as he enters you, though you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Yeah? Right there, hm? Or is it…” he trails off, shifting his hips ever so slightly, making you realise he’s actually hit the centre point of your g-spot now, his hard, unrelenting thrusts pushing you over the edge without warning.

“Oh my goooddd,” your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open against the cool shower wall, as your cunt keeps gripping him even though it’s already creaming around his cock.

“Good girl, keep going, love. Show me how many you can take tonight.”

There’s nothing you can do, not that you’d want to do anything other than let him rearrange your insides. Especially not when his tattooed hand finds its way from the back of your hair to your jaw, tilting your head to the side, giving you the perfect view of his upper body—rivulets of water cascading down his chiselled form, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed. 

He’s the epitome of perfection. Not just a ninety-nine percent but a hundred. 

His eyes, though hooded, bore into your soul as his hips pick up the pace. It’s this connection you share with him make being with him feel so special.

“Koo…”

“I know, love, just a bit more. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yes,” you moan, because hell, you can. “Yes, for you…ah, winning the trophy.”

Even though you shouldn’t feel his cock twitch with the pace he’s set, you do, realising instantly what he needs tonight.

“Best singer, Koo…fuck…best boyfriend, only fucking me when, hmm, the whole world wants a piece of you.”

“Only you. Always you, ___, love.” You think you catch him licking a drop of saliva from his lips as he stares down at where your bodies connect, sending another wave of arousal from your stretched-out hole.

“You’re so big.”

“Just for you, fuck, squeeze a bit more.”

It’s not that you did it on purpose, but when his hand shoots down to your clit, circling it just right, your body responds as though it’s never felt this good, soaking him even more and gripping him tight as a vice.

“Like that, love, like that.” Jungkook grunts and pants, holding you harder, tighter as his cock seems to swell even more, pumping frantically in sync with your impending second orgasm.

When Jungkook can’t hold back any longer, it’s all you need to let go too, the rush flowing through your veins just as fiercely as the love you feel for this man.

After some time, Jungkook pulls out, helping you straighten up and lean against his chest under the stream. His veiny hands trail down your body, washing away his release dripping out of you, as he plants kisses along the side of your face.

When he’s had enough, he, like always, turns you, brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. And as you do the same to him, captivated by how content and in love he looks, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world when, for the first time, Jungkook declares his feelings.

“I love you, till the day I die, ___.”

“I love you too, and beyond.”

Because this, because having Jungkook calling you his, is beyond probability.

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! ��� If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

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[marsdql]

𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 :‹

Pairing: Boyfriend!Heeseung × girlfriend!fem!reader

Synopsis: Another heated argument with you and your boyfriend Heeseung, making it your last straw. You thought it was the end for a while after leaving, until one day..

Genre/warnings: angst to fluff, toxic relationship, a lot of back and forth, idk ok.. | wc: 2k

𝙈𝙖𝙧’𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: This has been in my drafts for a while so I had to let it out. I’ve been writing SOOO MUCH HEESEUNG FICS ITS CRAZY omg. I promise diff are coming I’m js so brain dead on what to write and I don’t get requests..😁 Jake ff coming out Friday nov15 for his birthday tho!! anyway go enjoy :>

The argument started innocently enough. You were waiting for Heeseung at a party you’d been planning to attend together, but he never showed. You called, texted, and waited for hours, but he never responded. When you finally got home and found him there, acting as if nothing had happened, something inside you snapped.

“What’s wrong with you?” you demanded, slamming the door behind you. “I waited for you all night, Hee! Do you know how embarrassing it was, standing there by myself while everyone kept asking where you were?”

He looked up from his phone, barely acknowledging your presence. “I told you I wasn’t sure if I could make it.”

“You told me you wanted to be there,” you shot back, anger rising in your chest. “But you didn’t even call, Heeseung! You just left me there, like I didn’t matter at all.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. “Why are you making this such a big deal? It was just one night.”

“Because this isn’t the first time!” Your voice shook as you threw your bag onto the couch, barely able to contain your frustration. “You keep doing this—promising me you’ll show up, then bailing like it’s nothing. Do you even care about this relationship anymore?”

“Here we go again,” he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. “You’re always turning everything into a personal attack.”

You clenched your fists, trying to hold back tears of frustration. “Maybe if you actually made an effort, I wouldn’t feel like I have to ‘attack’ you. I’m so tired of being the only one fighting to keep us together.”

Heeseung scoffed, throwing his phone down on the table. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re some saint here. You’re always complaining, always finding something wrong with what I do or don’t do. It’s exhausting.”

“Exhausting?” The word stung, and you felt a pang of anger so sharp it made you shake. “So you’re saying I’m exhausting?”

“Yeah, maybe you are,” he snapped, meeting your gaze with a hard look you’d never seen from him before. “Maybe this whole thing is just… too much. You’re always so needy, always wanting more. Maybe I can’t give you what you want.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the words hitting harder than he knew. “Needy?” you repeated, voice trembling. “I don’t think it’s needy to want the person I love to actually show up for me. But maybe you’re right—maybe I’m asking too much from someone who clearly doesn’t care.”

“Oh, don’t twist this around like I don’t care,” he shot back. “I have my own life, my own problems. Everything doesn’t revolve around you.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re the one who’s been pulling away, Heeseung. You’re the one who’s been acting like I’m some burden you have to carry. I’m just asking you to meet me halfway, but you can’t even do that, can you?”

Heeseung’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you saw something cold flicker in his eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to meet you halfway,” he said, each word cutting deeper than the last. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending like this is something it’s not.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart sinking as his words settled over you. “So… what, then? You’re tired of me?”

“Maybe I am,” he said, his tone bitter. “Maybe I’m tired of constantly being made to feel like I’m not enough, like no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for you.”

You felt your chest tighten, a tear slipping down your cheek despite your efforts to hold it back. “I just wanted you to try, Heeseung. To actually care enough to make an effort.”

“And I just wanted you to stop making me feel like a failure,” he shot back, his voice raising. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to constantly feel like you’re not measuring up? You keep pushing and pushing, and it’s like nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” you yelled, feeling your anger and heartbreak twisting together into something raw and painful. “Why did you let me keep believing that you wanted this, that you wanted us?”

“Because I thought I did,” he said, voice cracking as he looked away. “But lately… I don’t know. Maybe we’ve both just been holding on to something that isn’t there anymore.”

His words shattered something deep inside you, a pain so intense it felt almost physical. You took a shaky breath, struggling to find the right words. “So that’s it?” you whispered. “You’re just… giving up?”

Heeseung’s gaze softened, but he didn’t move toward you. “I’m just… tired of hurting you,” he said quietly. “And tired of feeling like I’m the problem. I can’t keep doing this.”

You looked away, unable to bear the sight of him standing there, so calm, as if he hadn’t just destroyed everything you’d built together. “Fine,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “If that’s how you feel… then maybe we shouldn’t keep doing this.”

For a moment, you thought he might say something, that he might reach out, try to fix the damage that had been done. But he didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just watched as you picked up your things and turned toward the door.

“Goodbye, Heeseung,” you said, your voice barely audible as you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As you closed the door behind you, you realized that you had been holding on to a version of him that no longer existed, a love that had withered in the space between unmet expectations and unspoken resentments. And the realization hurt more than anything he could have said, because now you knew that sometimes love simply isn’t enough.

Weeks had passed since that night, but the pain still sat heavy in your chest, a constant reminder of the words you both threw like daggers. You had told yourself it would get easier—that eventually, you’d stop replaying the fight over and over, picking apart every sentence, wondering if you could have said or done something differently.

But every time you closed your eyes, you could still see him standing there, looking at you with that mixture of anger and something else—something you couldn’t name.

Tonight, you found yourself sitting in a quiet café, stirring a mug of coffee you hadn’t touched. You’d come here hoping the change of scenery would help, but all it did was bring memories crashing back, drowning you in thoughts you had been trying so hard to escape. And then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, the doorbell chimed, and there he was.

Heeseung.

He hadn’t seen you yet, and you almost turned away, almost gathered your things to leave before he noticed. But some part of you—maybe it was the part that hadn’t stopped missing him, the part that still ached for him despite everything—stayed rooted in place.

As if sensing your presence, Heeseung looked up, his eyes widening slightly when they met yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, both frozen in the shared silence. Finally, he took a breath and walked over, his steps hesitant, as if he, too, was unsure of how this would go.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than you remembered, almost as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile.

“Hi,” you replied, your own voice barely above a whisper.

He sat down across from you, and for a moment, the two of you just sat in silence, both unsure of where to start. The tension was thick, memories of the fight still hanging heavily between you.

“I… I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you replied, your tone guarded.

Heeseung looked down at the table, then back up at you, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve been thinking about… that night. About the things we both said.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Me too,” you admitted, voice trembling.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know that’s probably hard to believe after everything, but… I never wanted things to end up like that.”

“Then why did you let it get to that point?” you whispered, the hurt and confusion you’d been carrying pouring out before you could stop it. “Why didn’t you just talk to me, Heeseung? Why did you make me feel like I was the problem?”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “Because… because I didn’t know how to tell you that I was struggling. I thought I was supposed to handle everything on my own, and I didn’t want to burden you with my issues. But in trying to protect you, I pushed you away, and that’s on me.”

His admission cracked something open inside you, and you felt a surge of conflicting emotions—relief, sadness, anger. “I would’ve been there for you, Heeseung. All I wanted was to be there for you.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I realize that now. I just… I guess I was scared. Scared of being vulnerable. Scared of letting you see the parts of me that I’ve always tried to hide.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t bother to wipe it away. “You didn’t have to be perfect for me, Heeseung. I never wanted that. I just wanted you.”

He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering over yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, he took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, warm and familiar.

“I don’t know if I can fix what I broke,” he said quietly, his eyes full of regret. “But… if there’s still a part of you that wants to try, I’d do anything to make it right.”

You looked down at his hand, the memories of all the times you’d held each other, all the promises you’d once shared. Part of you wanted to say yes, to let yourself fall back into the warmth of him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

But another part of you remembered the pain—the nights spent wondering if you were enough, the feeling of constantly fighting to hold onto someone who kept slipping away.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again, Heeseung,” you said, voice breaking. “You hurt me so much. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, desperation flashing in his eyes. “I know I messed up, and I know it might take a long time to earn back your trust. But if there’s even the smallest part of you that thinks we could make this work… I promise I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Silence settled between you, thick with emotion, as you weighed his words. You knew that forgiveness wouldn’t come easily, that the scars from that night would always be there, etched into your heart. But looking at him now, at the vulnerability in his eyes, you saw a glimpse of the Heeseung you’d fallen in love with—the one who had once made you feel like you were his whole world.

Taking a shaky breath, you met his gaze. “If we do this… it can’t be like before. We both have to be honest with each other, even when it’s hard. No more hiding, no more pretending.”

He nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. “I promise,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “No more hiding.”

Slowly, cautiously, you let yourself smile, a small glimmer of hope flickering in your chest. It would be a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

And this time, you’d fight for each other—together.

Reblogs and feedback appreciated, thank u ! DIVIDER CREDITS: @anitalenia

[ marsdql ]

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

love languages ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

hp boys x reader (ft. harry potter, ron weasley, fred weasley, draco malfoy, cedric diggory, remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, tom riddle) backtrack: inspiration: my post for pjo (here) that has the same concept

harry potter

giving: acts of service

harry always fights to protect those he loves, lest we forget the battle in the department of mysteries to “save” sirius, and even those he could not care less about (ahem draco). he’s self sacrificing, literally walking to his own death in the last book to save everyone else. and on a day to day basis, he goes out of his way to include or be nice to everyone, especially those who don’t really have friends, like luna or neville. he’s less about grand gestures and sappy love, instead preferring to care for his loved ones in practical ways.

receiving: words of affirmation

before harry went to hogwarts and met his friends, he literally received no love. petunia, vernon, and dudley would emotionally and physically abuse him. for that reason, I think harry would really appreciate someone praising him or just simply saying an “I appreciate you” or even “I love you”. also for that reason, I think physical touch might be a receiving love language for harry too.

ron weasley

giving: acts of service

oh gosh here we go, I already know there’s going to be so many “acts of service” guys on here. ron’s one of the most loyal people in the series, he’s always there for his friends and he is super selfless and protective of them. curse the movies for taking away his moment where he stands up on a broken leg to protect harry from a literal serial killer (well not really, but they didn’t know it at the time). he’s not the most, uh, articulate should we say, but he always helps his friends out.

receiving: words of affirmation

growing up in a family as big as his, ron got cast aside a lot. I mean, his literal deepest desire was to be noticed by others and not be overshadowed. and deep down he definitely knew that his family loved him, it was just kind of hard to see sometimes since his parents’ and siblings’ attention was always so divided. (side note, as an only child I could not imagine being in a family of ron’s size; one of my best friends has two sisters and she’s one of the nicest people I know, and I definitely think there’s a correlation) so if someone were to finally notice him and genuinely love him for who he is and tell him that, it would make him so happy. finally, he’s enough as he is. finally, he feels like someone loves him.

fred weasley

giving: quality time

quality time and acts of service are the big ones for fred. he’s willing to put himself into dangerous situations during the war (rip fred weasley, you deserved better) and the battle of seven potters. besides that, he thrives on bringing people together and making connections. he’s super friendly to everyone, a classic jokester, and he shows his love through the time he spends around people, especially george. they were always together. it hurts that they can't be anymore.

receiving: quality time

fred spent like all of his time with george when they were first starting weasleys’ wizard wheezes. granted, that was because starting a business takes a lot of time and effort, but it shows how fred is willing to spend time focusing on his passions. that led me to think he’d find it super important to spend time with his loved ones, and he would want his partner to spend a lot of time with him too. he uses humor as a defense mechanism and a coping mechanism, but deep down he knows that the war is actually dangerous and will have real consequences, such as bill getting mauled or george losing an ear. (or, you know, FRED LOSING HIS LIFE.) so he treasures every little moment with his loved ones.

draco malfoy

giving: acts of service

thinking about this was actually really hard. draco’s such a cold person, and he’s never shown love; all his selfless actions can be chalked up to fear and having no choice. so I had to look at when and why he married astoria. and this meant dipping into the cursed child, which I’ve never read fully but have read enough to be able to say I hate it and I don’t accept it. he truly did love astoria, even when his relationship with his parents suffered because of it. he became a better person because of astoria--miss  girl really said “I can fix him”. he even went so far as to disregard his father’s wishes when he wanted to let the malfoy line die with him. so I think when he really does find someone he loves, draco can be a pretty selfless person.

receiving: words of affirmation

gosh, just how much do people suck up to him? he was treated like a king in his early hogwarts years, and he loved it. I think the deeper reason is that he grew up without a ton of verbal affection from his family, so that’s something he craves from other places--a partner, or peers. the first time he hears an “I love you”, he’d be absolutely shocked and maybe turn cold or shut down. after some time and patience from both of you, he’d slowly begin to accept praise or loving words. if he’s feeling brave, he may even reciprocate them. only when it’s in the middle of the night and he’s pretty sure you’re asleep, though.

cedric diggory

giving: quality time

cedric spent a lot of time with cho when they were together; they would always go on dates and spend a lot of time together in between classes. it shows how much he values spending time with his loved ones. another giving love language of his is definitely quality time, because cedric is 100% a giver. he tipped harry off about the golden egg. he wanted harry to take the cup when they were in the maze. he’s just such a nice guy.

receiving: physical touch

this is for two reasons. one because I want it to be, and two because did you see his face when rita skeeter ruffled his hair in the movie? the guy was not having it, but I bet if the right person did it he’d be all blushy and smiley. also when harry went to the courtyard to tell him about the dragons, he was literally laying in his friend’s lap. and I can’t remember correctly, but wasn’t it said that he and cho would constantly hold hands? yeah. enough said.

remus lupin

giving: acts of service

remus does so much for others. he was one of the best defense against the dark arts professors for a reason. and even if his competition wasn’t so poor, I’m sure he would’ve been just as popular. he’s a natural mentor and caregiver, always there for others and sometimes neglecting his own needs because of it. he engages with his students on a personal level, especially harry, and he is always willing to put himself in danger for others, as seen in the battle of seven potters and the battle of hogwarts.

receiving: words of affirmation

this and quality time. for quality time, he spent a lot of time with his friends in school, and he spent a lot of time with harry when he was the datda professor. this time really helped grow his relationships and helped him feel close to his newfound family. as for words of affirmation, I think it’s obvious; as a kid, he never really had friends, and as a result he secretly yearns for encouragement and emotional support. kind words and whispered promises that everything will be okay. that is how remus lupin feels loved.

sirius black

giving: quality time

sirius spent so much time with his friends when he was young. he had a really rocky relationship with his family, so he gave all of his love to his friends. he and james were practically inseparable, they had such a nice connection. on top of that, after barely any human interaction for twelve whole years in azkaban, he treasures every single moment he has with his loved ones. it’s like every time he and his partner are together, he looks at them and can hardly believe this is real. but it is real. he’s out of azkaban, he’s free, and he has such an amazing partner to spend the rest of his life with. that’s decades! (I can’t with sirius’s death, I--no. he did not die.)

receiving: words of affirmation

sirius spent his childhood and adult life being rejected and ridiculed. that’s got to hurt, especially when he was literally in azkaban for something he didn’t do. he was so deprived of love and general human interaction for twelve years that I imagine he’d initially be kind of awkward or even scared when his partner first shows him love through praise or verbal affection. after a while though, he’d warm up and hopefully show that youthful, happy side of him again. also, he’d probably be big on quality time, since he got none of it at all during his azkaban years.

james potter

giving: words of affirmation

ah, finally someone who’s not acts of service or quality time! at this point I think maybe it’s just me. james is teasing and playful with his words; he’s very vocal about his affection and appreciation for his friends and loved ones. he did, after all, ask lily out pretty much every time he saw her. not at all like remus, who is a love letters and secret admirer kind of guy.

receiving: words of affirmation

james loved hearing praise and support. especially when he was in school. fuel his ego. that’s it.

tom riddle

giving: words of affirmation

I don’t think voldemort could physically feel love. I sometimes wonder if tom riddle and voldemort were different people, and honestly that’s a can of worms I don’t want to get into right now. I believe there’s some sort of theory that he can’t feel love because he was conceived while his dad was under a love potion? I have no idea. the important thing is that we all know how good tom riddle was at manipulating people. flattery gets you nowhere, they say, well clearly not if you’re tom marvolo riddle, because flattery got him everywhere. so he would use words to flatter people and show his admiration or appreciation of them, but was any of it actually real? I doubt it.

receiving: words of affirmation

honestly kind of the same deal with draco, but he's a lot worse. he wants to be treated like a king--scratch that, he wants to be treated like a god. he craves affirmation for his greatness and abilities. all his followers praise him endlessly, calling him “my lord” and sucking up to him. he also wanted his ideologies to be affirmed and supported by others. let’s face it, words of affirmation were just another way for him to prove to himself that he’s the greatest.

just a heads up guys, I'm so tired as I'm writing this so it was unedited

divider by @enchanthings

taglist: @loveinalocket, @raysmayhem-72, @stars-tonight, @toooster, @soft-likethesunset, @sheisntyou

[neiptune]

this town is fake but you're the real thing

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

Against all expectations, it’s Osamu who managed to get under his skin.

An innocent night out to celebrate the new Onigiri Miya branch in Shizuoka, a few beers shared on a bench by the port, what started as innocent conversation about each other’s dating life soon turning into a painfully precise evaluation of why he can’t seem to find someone worth keeping around.

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

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

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

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

“She met Motoya”.

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

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

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

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

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

“I talk—”

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

“A stranger? You want me to stop someone on the street and casually ask them to listen to whatever trauma is tied to my fear of flying?”.

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

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

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

“I should hurry up before I grow old with only my emotional unavailability to keep me company, I remember”, Rintaro finished his beer with a grimace. Osamu chuckled, eventually dropped the topic, but the suggestion remained unpleasantly hanging over his head both like a succulent fruit and a risky presage.

So now he’s slumped in the living room of the spacious apartment the EJP provides, a quiet Friday evening spent cooking some stew for dinner and facetiming his family. The tv is on as a distraction and an easy way out should things get uncomfortable. Surely Dwight will keep him grounded.

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

The interface is pretty easy to navigate. It seems he’s supposed to create a minimalist profile first and then he’d be free to start a new, random chat. Users can opt out anytime or, if they wish to keep a specific person as their anonymous match, add them as a friend and pin the conversation within their personal directory. Nothing too complicated.

Suna’s patience wears thin easily and after a few attempts at picking unavailable usernames, he settles for crysnoopy. Finally, original enough at last.

Since not revealing one’s identity seems to be the point of the entire thing, he can’t upload a profile picture and instead has to select one random avatar from the default library. He picks a cartoon frog with big eyes and no mouth on a light green background.

There he is, an anonymous online presence on a stupid app. His profile only contains a nickname, he/him pronouns, age and a cute icon. No interests listed, no boundaries, not a single space where he could leave a polite note— please don’t send unsolicited dick pics. Not that he ever plans on requesting one.

Suna starts a few new chats, faceless identities either ending the conversation right away upon his dry and unoriginal hey or being as odd as one would imagine strangers in an anonymous community could be.

Lavenderhaze

-> Hi.

Lavenderhaze

-> How are you?

He sinks deeper into the nice couch pillows Atsumu forced him to get.

crysnoopy

-> hey. all good, wbu?

Lavenderhaze

-> Good, bored.

Lavenderhaze

-> Should we exchange nudes or something?

Rintaro sighs. Hesitation is laced into the delay of his thumb but eventually he taps the skip option, Osamu’s ominous words still ringing loud and clear in his head. It’s not what he downloaded the dumb app for, it’s not what he needs right now. Fuck, maybe he really should’ve called Atsumu instead.

A new chat opens after a short loading time and his nose wrinkles when he realizes that he’ll probably have to send the first message this time. The username staring back at him is original enough to make Suna take a few seconds to think of something equally entertaining to say. The whole thing is never going to work if he doesn’t take it seriously and actually puts some effort in it, right?

He looks up from his phone for a second. Then, a loud ping makes him jump.

Unfinishedusernam

-> When you shower, do you actively wash your legs or just let soapy water rinse down on them?

Rintaro almost huffs out a laugh. Original username and approach? A good enough start to ignite the hope of finally be talking to someone sane.

crysnoopy

-> I don’t shower.

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s hot.

-> Why the username?

Suna’s lips twitch, not a smile but almost. He wants to type an equally sarcastic reply, brush the question off and maybe ask something more interesting instead. But then he remembers what he’s doing and forces an honest reply out of his fingers.

crysnoopy

-> my little sister used to scream like an eagle when she cried, the one thing that always shut her up was a snoopy plush I won at the arcade.

Suna barely registers that his leg starts bouncing lightly as he watches the little hand appear on the screen once more.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I’m glad it’s something cute :)

-> Lowkey thought you were an incel

This time he really does snort out half a laugh.

crysnoopy

-> if I was I would’ve asked why your username is edging me.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fair. So… you do shower, right?

crysnoopy

-> I promise I do.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Damn, my incel detector has truly failed me.

-> You seem suspiciously normal btw, I feel like we could have a conversation that doesn't involve dicks

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

crysnoopy

-> likewise. wanna make it official?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Jeez, at least buy me dinner first

Rintaro’s beat to it, before he can even click on the option there’s already a colorful notification popping up on his screen, informing that he has a new friend request.

He accepts it.

It took some convincing for Samu to agree but, eventually, the spot on the pull-out couch became his. Between Hyogo and Shizuoka, with imminent plans of further expanding in Tokyo, he’s always travelling to make sure the shops are keeping their top quality standard high. The Shizuoka branch is still too recent for him to retreat back to his hometown for good, so he’s there most of the time. Suna had to call him an idiot a million times before Osamu accepted his hospitality, never one to ask for anything, always first in line to help others instead. Suna thinks he still didn’t call him an idiot enough times.

They’re both gone most of the day anyway, between the restaurant and training. The season is about to start and the trip to Osaka feels more imminent than ever, Suna knows he has to be at the top of his game to perform exactly how he’s expected to. Which means, no distractions. He does a good job at avoiding those, dating apps left unopened and the way home now shorter than usual, to circumvent his favorite bakery. Those blueberry muffins will have to wait. Samu’s healthier alternative with gram oats and bananas is one hell of a substitute anyway.

Suna loves his friend, he really does. The house feels less empty when he’s around and there’s always a homemade meal tucked somewhere in the fridge. They share breakfast when they get up at the same time and night conversations at the kitchen table if Rintaro manages to stay awake late enough to wait for Osamu to be back.

But sometimes, being alone is easier. No explanations owed for the one distraction he seems unable to give up, no curious raise of the eyebrows he’d have to confront when the familiar ping from his phone prompts an immediate reaction the wrong twin would tease him endlessly for.

He’s always been a dry texter or so his friends, teammates and relatives have always told him. Suna didn’t ever think he was supposed to make an effort to become better at written communication, or communication in general. But now, there’s you. A faceless, perhaps not entirely sane someone who makes him check his notifications way too often, insides spasming when the message doesn’t come from one of his groupchats and the Matchpal icon flashes across the screen instead.

Suna likes talking to you, so much that he often finds himself being the one to text first. It’s okay if you’ll take hours to get back to him sometimes, he knows for certain that the message is eventually going to light up his screen and that’s enough to make him smile. Sometimes you text first, at either ungodly hours in the middle of the night or during the day, if you’re bored at work. He doesn’t know what your job is, you don’t know precisely what Suna does either because, again, anonymity. The only detail he’s familiar with is that you’re often around “wearing but rewarding humans”, as you’d once put it. The one thing you know about him is that he’s an athlete, something you had briefly teased him for.

When he’s not talking to you, when parts or even the entirety of days that used to belong to him and his routine alone are devoid of your messages, Suna finds himself thinking. Or rather, imagining. There’s a lot he doesn’t know and he refuses to overwhelm you with questions, therefore his mind desperately tries to fill in the gaps to no avail. Are you spending the evening reading a book, watching a tv show? Did you cook dinner or order takeout? How happy are you that it’s been raining for three days straight on a scale of ‘I can only function if it’s sunny and bright’ to ‘leave me in a storm and watch me flourish’ ?

Most times, Suna simply plugs the charging cable into is phone, switches off the bedside light and hopes to wake up to one of your texts. They seem to be making an increasingly dangerous difference between a good day and a bad one. He’s not entirely sure it’s ideal.

Unfinishedusernam

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

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

-> [IMG_65209]

Rintaro, elbows resting on his knees and towel haphazardly thrown around the neck, smiles at the screen. God, he hasn’t had a blueberry muffin in over a month, but what he’s really focusing on is that you’ve mentioned him. To your mom. There’s a low, static buzz in his ears now, punctuated by the thumps of his heart growing louder. It makes you feel more real, it also makes something simmer in his stomach.

crysnoopy

-> I’m at training.

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

He’s enabled auto-capitalization for the first time in his life, for god’s sake. The Inarizaki groupchat was so disturbed Atsumu decided to apply the same additional authenticator method used by his online banking and forced Suna to reply to a secret question. One only the real Suna would know the answer to.

He successfully demonstrated the needed personal knowledge concerning the color of Aran’s lucky underwear in high school and thus confirmed his identity.

Unfinishedusernam

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

-> How’s training?

Rintaro finds himself wanting to give his identity shape too. It’s the first time he’s seen your hand, holding that tupperware underneath the dim light of your mom’s kitchen. He wants to feel more real for you, too.

He snaps a picture of his hand holding a half-empty water bottle, careful to hide his shoes. Not that you’d be able to immediately tell he plays volleyball from those, but just in case. You do get to see part of his legs though, shorts and their very recognizable colors kept out of frame.

crysnoopy

-> [IMG_65209]

-> Almost done, very tired

He watches as the little hand scribbles, then stops. It resumes the writing, then stops once more. His leg is bouncing again, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He straight up jumps when, suddenly, someone loudly falls on the empty spot next to him and the bench creaks.

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

“You okay?”.

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

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

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

“Mocktails”, Motoya sticks his tongue out.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, we’re payin’ for those”.

“Sure we are!”.

“I’m serious, you ass—”

“That’s enough gossiping, boys. Get back to work!”, by muscle memory, their legs react to coach’s boisterous voice and all three men jump up from their seats. Suna spends the rest of the late afternoon training thinking about the text message hidden in his gym bag.

It’s way past 6PM when training ends, the last half an hour was spent studying opponent videos and then simulating different match scenarios. Suna’s brain feels fried and on any other day he’d be so ready to get a massage, eat a well-balanced dinner and melt on his couch in front of a good tv show until his eyelids would grow heavy.

Instead, he takes the long way home, legs heavy as he explores different shops in search for the perfect gift. He settles for a very beautiful, handmade, porcelain maneki-neko, left paw raised instead of the right one because Suna knows Osamu will always care about having more customers who trust his restaurant rather than having more money.

The shop owner puts the gift in an elegant box and seals the bag with a delicate ribbon, he thanks the old lady with a deep bow and despite his limbs feeling heavy with fatigue, as he breathes in the cool air of the evening, Suna is content. He thinks of the message sitting pretty in his pocket as he heads home.

Unfinishedusernam

-> You have really nice hands

He didn’t open it, not yet. It’s reassuring to have the notification sitting there, untouched and polished against his lockscreen.

It shouldn’t matter that a stranger on an app is complimenting his hands, it really shouldn’t. Then why does it, somehow? Suna is happy you find his hands nice, which feels like a recipe for disaster. As he walks past his favorite bakery, he remembers you mentioning how you enjoy grabbing croissants for breakfast at times. When he told you that he was about to leave for a retreat with his team, after asking if their destination was one among Tokyo, Osaka and Yokohama, you proceeded to list all your favorite cafes, bakeries and restaurants for each of them. Just in case he had the time and wanted to check them out. As much as he tries to keep his distance, something as trivial as mentioning the correct city possibly resulting too risky, you always seem to go out of your way to reach closer. Taking the time to prepare three separate lists of suggestions while simultaneously respecting his boundaries is an effort he deems… unexpected. It feels weird in the best way. He almost wants to tell you it’s Osaka after all, give you something real, something new to hold on to. Maybe he’ll even tell you it’s volleyball.

“Coming home from another bad date?”, the unexpected quip startles Suna as he looks up from the sidewalk to find his not so friendly neighbor directing a saccharine smile at him, trash bags in hand. Not too long ago, he would’ve asked if she needed help with those.

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

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

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

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

“Always a pleasure running into you, Suna”.

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

Suna says goodbye with an unbothered wave of the hand despite her giving him the finger, positively happy that for a good while the chances of running into his neighbor will be reduced to zero. Osaka can’t come fast enough.

The thing is, he was surprised she lived so close when they first started chatting on a regular dating app. When Suna confirmed they were essentially in the same neighborhood, she was the one to propose a dinner right away.

Truthfully, it had been a bad day for him, for a number of reasons. Training was terrible, he was worried sick about his little sister’s sprained ankle, his own tendinitis was giving him hell and Atsumu had decided to call him to talk his ear off for an entire hour about the surprise party they were supposed to throw for Kita’s birthday. Yet, he didn’t feel like bailing on his date, so he forced himself out of the house with the worst mood.

Dinner was terrible. Awkward, tense, her growing increasingly impatient about his lack of responsiveness, him snapping at the tiniest, dumbest inputs. The entire night ended up being such a disaster she left halfway through her creamy salmon pasta, a few banknotes tucked underneath a glass of water, enough to pay half the bill. He remembers deflating in his seat, feeling terrible for five minutes, finishing his own dinner and then leaving as if nothing happened.

Suna thought about texting, maybe even apologizing, but he just never found it in himself to actually do it. It was just a bad date, bad dates happen. He’d never seen her before, or maybe simply didn’t pay enough attention to notice her presence, so there was no way he could’ve anticipated just how fucking often he’d run into her from that day onwards. She never failed to remind him of her resentment and, frankly, that ended up igniting his.

Of course Osamu’s leftovers are on his kitchen counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. He remembers how hungry he’d feel after training, so when he knows Suna’s going to be busy until the late afternoon, he always makes sure to cook an extra portion.

Rintaro lets the gym bag fall onto the floor, right next to the couch he drops on with a groan. He’s already showered, he simply needs to change clothes and head out once more. When he checks the latest messages, his brows furrow in confusion.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Still at training?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fuck, sorry, that was probably weird.  

Unfinishedusernam

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

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

crysnoopy

-> Just got home

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

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

Unfinishedusernam

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

crysnoopy

-> No I don’t?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Liar. Here, if you’re sincere, compliment these.

-> [IMG_98279]

A laugh bubbles from his throat when he opens the picture of your feet in a pair of fuzzy fox slippers.

crysnoopy

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

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

Unfinishedusernam

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

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

crysnoopy

-> Only if they own a pretty set of slippers

When has he ever been good at following judicious advice?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Knew it. Flirt.

-> Can I ask you something?

crysnoopy

-> Ask away

Unfinishedusernam

-> Why are you on this app?

He sighs. Flirty territory is easier than honesty territory. A quick glance at the clock on his kitchen wall instills a sense of urgency as he types a reply, as raw and sincere as it gets.

crysnoopy

-> I wanted to find out if I could open up to strangers more than I do with people I actually know

He really fucking hopes Osamu is proud. Let it be known that he’s trying.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Do you think you could open up to me?

Suna exhales from his nose. This is definitely not the type of conversation he wanted to have while on a rush.

crysnoopy

-> Maybe

-> I’d like that.

He waits for a few seconds, chat gone silent. Maybe you logged off, maybe you don’t know how to reply, either way Suna feels a weight lifting from his chest. It’s true, he thinks he might have a deeper conversation with you of all people. A faceless someone who sends him pictures of stray cats and nice sunsets, who makes him smile at silly jokes. He shortly wonders if you’d like to open up to him in the same way, if being vulnerable will ever be on the table. For now, he’s okay with simply letting you know.

Osaka ends up being extra motivating.

The EJP Raijin players have been training hard, religiously respecting their schedules: there’s no time for slacking off, days punctuated by a disciplined sleep routine, physical and tactical training, cool-down exercises, refuelling afternoons and evenings spent cross-training. The synergy within the team is off the charts, they have won every single practice match played so far and the excitement is palpable as the game with the Black Jackals approaches.

Their training sessions are usually shorter. Atsumu insists it’s because they’re in better shape, Suna’s almost punched him in the face over dinner.

When he’s not too exhausted, against all odds, he enjoys spending some time with old friends and acquaintances. He knows it’s going to be a difficult game, Sakusa is a pain in the ass to block and Inunaki, their libero, is very talented. But he thinks he’s ready.

As they stroll through the city when their free days or breaks coincide, Suna is sometimes hit with pangs of a sentiment not entirely foreign. Nostalgia, regret? He can never tell for certain. He misses having his friends around, being in the same place at all times, travelling less. As he thinks of Osamu currently being the only occupant of his large, painfully empty apartment, while he shares a portion of takoyaki with an ever annoyingly loud Atsumu, when he listens to Bokuto enthusiastically detail his relationship with Keiji, he thinks he’s missing out on too many things and he’s past feeling unperturbed about it.

“Shoyo says he’s very happy in Brazil, asked us to visit soon. Ya should come”, Atsumu lightly bumps Suna’s shoulder with his as they walk by the river, in search of a good viewing spot. The colorful procession carrying portable shrines is quickly filling up the boats to be paraded up and down the Okawa river. While it’s still early for fireworks, oh and bunraku performances are about to begin on different stage boats, and the air is filled with fragrances coming from the endless rows of festival food stalls. What an unexpected fortune, to be in town for the Tenjin Matsuri.

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

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

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

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

“Do you ever miss Hyogo?”.

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t care that you’ll know where he is, it isn’t but a small part of himself he wishes to unravel for you. It’s what you two have been doing, no? Occasionally sending each other messages that go beyond jokes and memes. You now know he has twins as friends, just how much he loves his little sister, his favorite dish. Suna knows you live close to your family and visit them as often as possible, that you always bring a can of tuna in your bag should you come across stray cats on the way to work. He knows you’re scared of the dark and can’t look at blood without feeling dizzy. You’re trusting, extremely indecisive, a fierce procrastinator, you spend too much time on tiktok and are scared to death you’re not going to be able to keep those who are important to you in your life, forever. Suna gets it, really.

He hasn’t been able to say much, you opened up to him as if it was nothing and he still can’t bring himself to share much more than comforting words and feeble details. Who cares if he likes yakisoba? He hates how detached he feels from everyone else. He feels lonely. He wishes he still lived in the same town as his friends. Sometimes he goes to sleep with the tv left on, to simulate someone else’s presence in a cold, empty apartment. He misses his family, like, all the time. The thought of getting on a plane paralizes him. He doesn’t think he’s good enough at volleyball, his team may lose and it would be his fault. He doesn’t think he’s good enough.

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

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

“You haven’t updated your feed in a year”, Bokuto points at his phone screen, sunarin profile open to prove a point. Rintaro almost snatches it from his hand to throw it into the river below.

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s okay. I don’t know much”.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes but at this point she doesn’t really feel like a stranger anymore”, Suna pauses after saying that out loud, surprised by his own words. When has he stopped considering you a faceless someone on a random app, exactly? He realizes he’s given you a voice in his head. A smile he imagines reacting to his lame jokes, when he deflects tentative personal questions. He’s given you a routine, shared most of his. You don’t feel like a stranger anymore but you’re not exactly a friend. What are you, then?

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

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

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

“She never asked”, if the justification sounds odd, his friends are kind enough not to point it out. He doubts Osamu would be as lenient. Truth is, he didn’t ask either: after some time, you had just randomly disclosed the information, probably because you perceived him as a very discrete person. Which, for the record, he is.

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t know what she feels like, Suna wants to say. He settles for saying nothing, as the hold on his shoulder grows tighter for a split second.

Coach is going to have an earful ready for Motoya if he doesn’t show up on time at practice, in the morning. He’s still out celebrating-drinking with other teammates, their first Tenjin Matsuri an excuse good enough to be late. Suna doesn’t mind having the hotel room to himself for the evening, a welcome novelty: he just hopes he won’t have to drag his friend out of bed the following day.

His hair is still wet, the bed way too comfortable to consider getting dressed. You, a distraction that fills his stomach with fuzzy warmth, something that for a second makes him forget why his phone has been exploding with notifications.

It’s that stupid instagram post he decided to share after a year of semi hiatus, online presence proven only by the occasional story he’d upload. Suna feels particularly caught in his feelings today, so why not post the selfie Atsumu took by the river? His comment is pinned at the top of the section, with over 8k likes.

miyatsumu brothers ❤️

Bokuto left a heart too, Samu and Kita some of their usual simple but genuine comments. Love you guys. Miss you :). It’s easy for them, a skill he wants to master as well. It’s not enough for the people in his life to simply know that he loves them, Suna wants tell them more.

He takes a look at other comments, smiling faces with heart-eyes emojis and inappropriate compliments from strangers that make him laugh. He shortly wonders what your instagram looks like. Filled with pictures of you with your friends and family, no doubt. A feed that showcases your favorite food and places, creative outfits, witty captions and sometimes no captions at all. It’d fit you.

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Osaka!!!!

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

crysnoopy

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> Your friends are also athletes???

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

-> [IMG_62371]

Suna smiles upon opening the picture. You’re sitting on your couch and the hand not holding the phone is doing a V sign, a lidded tray balanced on your legs, tv channel set on a show he’s never been interested in. The lights are dim, the room doesn’t seem too big but it feels so cozy. The way a home should feel. He sees a coffee table and some lit candles by the tv unit.

crysnoopy

-> Looks like a perfect evening to me

Unfinishedusernam

-> I only walked 200 steps today.

crysnoopy

-> I’m like trying really hard to find something nice to say

-> Every morning is an opportunity to create a masterpiece called life?

-> Stop surviving, start thriving?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fuck you for making me laugh, I almost dropped my dinner

He laughs as well, out loud, then double taps your message to like it so that you know he’s still acknowledging it, despite something more urgent suddenly prompting the quick movement of his fingers.

crysnoopy

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

Suna can almost sense your surprise, it’s evident in the way the little scribbling hand appears and disappears repeatedly as you probably try to think of something appropriate to say.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Yeah?

crysnoopy

-> I feel that too

-> Most days I wake up thinking I’m a bad person

Another pause. This must be the most exposed he’s ever felt and Suna is grateful your replies are not as fast as they usually are because his hands are suddenly cold, palms clammy and disgusting.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Why do you think that?

crysnoopy

-> I don’t do enough to show how I feel and one day that could make them leave

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

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

Well, that’s a whole lot of fucking baggage he just dropped on you. His first instinct is to apologize, to ask you to just forget it, deflect with some joke about having had too much to drink and being in his feels. But he doesn’t do that. Why? What makes him want to trust you with all that? Perhaps it’s just curiosity, wanting to find out what a complete stranger would think of the thoughts that eat him alive at night. Maybe he’s hoping for some miraculous solution offered on a silver plate. Or he just wants to check if he’s able to even do the whole being vulnerable thing in the first place.

Your response comes after a couple minutes and Suna doesn’t remember the last time he felt so nervous.

Unfinishedusernam

-> How did you meet your current friends?

He furrows his brows.

crysnoopy

-> Most of them I met in school

Unfinishedusernam

-> So they made the conscious decision of being your friends every single day, all this time

-> Btw getting bored easily is okay. A bad person wouldn’t be asking those questions about himself :)

-> You can always work on what you want to improve

crysnoopy

-> You make it sound too easy

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes it really is tho

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> It doesn’t have to be easy right away

-> You get to make your own regular. Create your new normal

Suna exhales, reads your messages over and over again. It’s oddly comforting realizing that he is, in fact, not too late yet. Why does he always think that he is?

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I think you’ll find a person you’ll want to commit to

-> That’s what I tell myself after all my failed dates anyway lol

-> Remember, be the change that you wish to see on tinder

Suna snorts, heart lighter in the hotel room he sits alone in. He could get drunk on the relief suddenly filling his chest, it feels like the touch of a cool hand over a feverish forehead.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Still there?

crysnoopy

-> I’m here

How could he not be?

crysnoopy

-> Thank you

Unfinishedusernam

-> How’s opening up to a stranger feel? :)

Good, if the stranger is you. Apparently.

crysnoopy

-> Mysteriously comforting

-> How are you failing those dates? Do I have to beat anyone up?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Nah

-> It just seems the guys I’m into are never into me

crysnoopy

-> That sucks for them

It really, truly, actually does. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt as comfortable sharing something so personal over text, it’s all so natural Suna is convinced he’d be able to do that in person as well. How would it feel to meet you? Would the magic wear out, is this so easy only because an anonymous profile on a silly app?

Sure, Suna doesn’t know your name or what you look like, but that doesn’t make you a stranger. He knows you enough for the words to almost spill out of his hands, words that press threateningly against the pads of his fingers.

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s sweet of you to say!

-> Last time I went out with a guy I really liked it was a disaster

-> He also lived pretty close to me, thank god he moved now

crysnoopy

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop being cute, I’ll fall for you

Suna takes a sharp breath. Reading the words does something funny to his stomach, something Atsumu would tease him for.

Shit, Atsumu. The game is so close. When’s the last time volleyball disappeared from his brain like that, with the snap of invisible fingers? Can he afford being this distracted?

Unfinishedusernam

-> This dinner fucking slaps btw

-> They opened a new place in my city, add that to the list of spots you have to visit if you swing by shizuoka

-> It’s called onigiri miya

Suna chokes on his own spit so badly he thinks he’s gonna die as he abruptly sits up, coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes. He stares at his screen in disbelief, sudden reminder of how tangible and close you actually are burning like a slap in the face.

Samu picks up after a few rings, it’s late enough for him to be either still in the shop or getting out of the shower.

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

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

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

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

“Really? Did she like it?”.

“Osamu”.

He chuckles lightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”.

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

“Tell her what?”.

“That you want to meet her, dumbass”.

Suna runs a hand through his now dried hair, lightly ruffles it. This feels dangerously real now, something he could grasp if he so much as decided to hold out a hand. You’re so close. There’s something else simmering underneath the fear and Rintaro recognizes it easily. It’s an almost forgotten eagerness that he’s not entirely stranger to.

“Samu”.

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

“I think I like her”.

“No shit”, Osamu full on laughs now, jovial and relieved. Despite the annoyance, Suna feels the exact same way.

Shizuoka seemed different upon his return, an endless pool of possibilities where something would inevitably remind Suna of you. He’d made peace with the fact that he had a crush on someone he’s never met and with that truth also came an endless list of associations his brain couldn’t help but make.

Texting you first, whenever he wanted, became natural. What’s more, it was almost as if you were encouraged by his newly loosened state, that one evening in Osaka opening the floodgates of something else, something different. You trusted him with your most intimate thoughts and so did he. There was no more wondering if you were bothering each other or texting at an unconvenient time. You’d once told him you felt self-conscious about that specifically.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes I feel like I’m too much

-> Would you tell me if I was too much?

crysnoopy

-> What do you mean?

Unfinishedusernam

-> You know, if I was pestering you

crysnoopy

-> You’re not too much

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

You were the happiest when he had told you they’d won the game in Osaka. Heck, you baked blueberry muffins (“to celebrate!”) and asked him to go get himself one so you could pretend he was there to eat yours. And Suna did: he got up from his bed, grabbed a jacket, put on some running shoes and made his way to his favorite bakery with a dopey smile on his face. He then suggested a toast and, what a coincidence, you happened to have a bottle of white wine left unopened for the longest time. The occasion seemed worthy.

And so you both ate and drank and celebrated until his cheeks felt hot and your texts started lacking proper grammar. Suna remembers how it felt, slumped on his couch, lights low and mind dizzy as his eyes blinked and blinked and then blinked again while the message sat on his screen, black against white. He just stared at it, not entirely able to discern reality from fictitious.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I wish you were here

-> I’d probly just kiss you

Suna remembers staring at his screen as a wild joy exploded in his heart and took over his entire chest, scorching and vibrant like festival fireworks. He stared at it for so long he still doesn’t quite recall if he wrote the reply or if the reply wrote itself, because the only other solid memory in relation to that moment is drifting off with an empty bottle of wine precariously balanced on his lap.

He woke up the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth, a throbbing headache and sore neck. His phone had fallen to the floor and when he picked it up, it was with a heavy heart that he noticed you hadn’t replied.

crysnoopy

-> I want nothing more

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

It wasn’t unusual for one of you to leave the other on read and it wasn’t like Suna to hyperfixate on not receiving a reply but this time, for some reason, it felt different.

As he got up with a groan and shuffled to his bathroom to take a shower, a strange feeling of dread strangled his body from the inside, his mind running a million miles a minute. Were you disgusted? Mad, that he had kept his location a secret? That would’ve been unfair, though, and you had always proved to respect his boundaries. Maybe it was all a joke, then. You thought of all that flirting as nothing short of a game, something stupid to pass the time with a stranger online. Something that wasn’t real. Worse, something you’d never want to be real, especially if given the chance to make that happen. Fuck.

Suna succeeded in keeping himself fairly busy for a few hours that day: he cleaned his whole apartment, did some meal prep, called his mom, called his sister, even called Atsumu. Your silence kept throbbing at the edges of each minute, it became so unbearable he ended up sending you a picture of an aspirin package with a funny caption, to test the waters.

You never replied. Not that day, not the following day, a week later your chat is still painfully empty. Or rather, filled with all the messages he’s sent before giving up.

crysnoopy

-> Killer headache town, population: me

crysnoopy

-> How are you feeling?

crysnoopy

-> Hey, everything ok?

crysnoopy

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

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

crysnoopy

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

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

crysnoopy

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

crysnoopy

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

He’s so mad at you. Weren’t you the first one coming forward with all that stuff about wanting to kiss him? Why would you disappear? He’s apologized, what else can he do? Was it all seriously worth so little to you?

Suna feels as if the days are longer now, training unbearable. Instead of keeping his mind occupied, all it does is remind him of how badly his blocks suck lately. He doesn’t pick up when Osamu calls, he’d read everything there’s to read in his seemingly inexpressive tone. He’s mad at himself, for not noticing how stupidly attached he’d become. Is it normal to miss you so badly? He doesn’t remember the last time he missed someone just as much. The world is cruel in relentlessly reminding him of you: an advert you’d find funny, that movie you’d recently discussed making a comeback in cinemas, sunsets painting the sky in orange and lilacs so similar to the ones you’d send him, a pair of fuzzy fox slippers on display in a shop window on the way to the gym.

The toxic part of his brain is ruthless in reminding him that this is why he refuses to open up to new people. That this is why he never lets himself be actually vulnerable and simply plays along: it’s because he’d be left with nothing but mockery, humiliation and loneliness.

But Rintaro doesn’t want to give that part of his brain any more solidity. What he wants, is to be proud of himself. Relieved, even. He wants to feel happy for having been brave enough to take a risk, to trust, to open up. He wants to relish in the joy that the brief encounter with you, anonymous and all, gave him. So what if you never come back or talk to him again? That’s on you. He’ll miss you for a good while, will probably always wonder what you’re up to from time to time, but he’ll be okay. You gave him much more than what you’re probably aware of and truth is, he’s grateful. He just hopes you’ll always be okay too, he hopes life will treat you well. He hopes you don’t regret trusting him with your most intimate thoughts, ever.

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

Unfinishedusernam

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re sweet, snoopy :)

Unfinishedusernam

-> Today was shit

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

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop flirting with me, it’s working

Unfinishedusernam

-> I feel so slilly

-> can you evne like someone you nevee met?

Turns out, you really can. He just never fully got around to telling you properly.

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

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

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

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

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

He talks to Kita and Aran way more these days: when he thinks of one of his friends, he simply grabs the phone and reaches out with a text, a meme or a funny reel. It seems to make them happy.

When his mom tells him that Kaori has been relentlessly asking about visiting her older brother, Suna assures her that he isn’t too busy to accomodate her for a week or for however long she wants to stay. Even if he was, he’d make it work. His mom clicks her tongue, gives her approval for a weekend only, less her daughter falls behind her homework even more. He grins when he hears Kaori scream MAKE IT TWO WEEKENDS in the distance.

Suna hasn’t seen his little sister in months and despite their relationship being exhaustingly conflictual (they are way too similar to each other and she gets a kick out of pissing him off), he loves her deeply and she trusts him just as much. Sometimes being home without him can become a lot and it’s not like she ever directly admits it but he’s pretty sure Kaori misses him, the little gremlin.

He was already 14 when she was born and little Rintaro had faced the news of a new addition to the family (a female, no less!) with infinite crankiness. He huffed and puffed and complained about having to share a room and a bathroom throughout his mom’s entire pregnancy, then a pink little bundle of dark hair and eardrum demolishing shrieks held his pointer finger in her tiny fist for the first time and he swore to guard her with his life, forever.

Suna wakes up extra early to clean the bathroom and his room, which he’s going to give to his sister, and make it girl-appropriate. He always goes on a tiny shopping spree before she visits: kitchen cabinets are now filled with her favorite snacks, there’s a colorful set of strawberry handcream, lotion and lip balm on his nightstand, a sweatsuit set neatly folded on his bed, the expensive vanilla body scrub their mom wouldn’t get her sits pretty in the shower.

He texts her before heading out for practice, demands she keeps him updated about her position. Kaori send a thumbs up and the picture of the blurred view outside the train window.

Unfortunately, as it often happens, coach announces the team is required to stay longer than he had anticipated and Suna doesn’t dare explain that he’s actually in a terrible rush because Motoya has been playing like shit and, of course, that becomes everyone’s problem.

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

“I’m trying”.

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

It’s not until an hour later that Suna can dash through the gym doors, already forty minutes late to the appointment his sister had agreed on in the morning. When he notified her about the extra training, she didn’t falter.

-> No worries, I’ll find the house.

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

“Why is your damn phone going to voicemail?”, Suna grumbles to himself in the middle of the street, torn between running to the station or straight home. It’s not dark yet but the sun has set and Kaori knows very well the one thing she’s never allowed to do is turn her phone off, especially if him or their mom are not aware of where she is.

Right as he decides to head to the train station first, he hears her voice. There’s someone taller with her, which makes the hairs behind his neck stand up right away.

“Kaori!”, he damn nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes towards his sister in the opposite direction, gym bag almost falling off his shoulder while she chats with god knows who without a care in the world.

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

“Why the hell is your phone turned off?”, as if to underline his point, he impatiently taps on his phone screen a few times, another call interrupted by immediately going straight to voicemail. He only now realizes how breathless he sounds.

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

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

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

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

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

For the following seconds, Suna is incapable of uttering another word. It becomes weird enough for his neighbor to wave a hand in front of his face, brows furrowed.

“Suna?”.

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

“Uh, actually”, his sister coughs.

“What now?”.

“I kinda need to use the bathroom”.

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

“I kinda need to use it now”.

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

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

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

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

“Fine, I guess we are making a pit stop”, he mutters and his sister exhales in relief, grabs his neighbor by the sleeve and urges her to open the door, quick quick quick please.

Suna watches his sister dash upstairs with a snort as he takes her backpack. It’s heavy as a rock. The hell did she put in there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t surprise me for some reason”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

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

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

“He’s never rude to me. We’re friends, remember?”, Suna watches her wink with a smile so warm. Is that really the same person he runs into almost on a daily basis?

Astonished, he witnesses that little, usually quiet, reserved gremlin smile back at his neighbor. Then, remembering how important formalities are in their family, she thanks her with a deep bow. It’s only then that he notices them: fox slippers. Cute, pointed ears, bushy tales and everything.

They both jump when the steel water bottle hits the parquet flooring, Kaori dramatically clutching her chest. “Can you not be a weirdo for five seconds?”.

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

“Yeah. Let’s go, loser”.

“Shut up, be thankful mom’s not here”, he fires back, fake annoyance to cover the fright that gnome’s actually caused. Suna’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason as he takes another furtive look at those slippers while pushing Kaori out the door, mind racing.

He is completely, absolutely unable to focus. Over dinner, he distractedly listens while his sister paints vivid pictures of boring classes, the art course their mom wants her to give a chance to, the latest fight she had with her best friend. He asks questions and fails to register the answers he gets, over and over again. It’s a relief when Kaori sprints to the bathroom, calling the shots for who gets to shower first. Suna is left rinsing the plates, with a brain that can’t think.

Would it be possible? You’re from Shizuoka. You have those exact slippers. You always feed stray cats. God, the fucking slippers. What are the chances?

He could call Osamu, ask a few questions. Instead, his sister’s voice keeps chipping away at what’s left of his sanity.

Your friend’s cool. I wish my teacher was that nice.

A teacher. Could kids be the wearing but rewarding humans you often mentioned?

He goes back to that disastrous dinner, desperately trying to recall how the conversation felt. What did they even text about prior to that evening? Was that woman as charming as you are? Fuck, he doesn’t remember a single word exchanged that evening. He just remembers being an asshole.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes”, from her comfortable spot on the couch, Kaori watches her brother march to the front door, then bend down to put on the same shoes he wore a few hours before, “lock the door, don’t burn the house down”.

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

“None of your business. Lock the door”.

“Sure, sure, bye”.

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

You’re so ready to go to bed early and declare the day officially concluded.

Work was tough, managing a new classroom of overexcited kids had proven to be particularly difficult. Between the increasing pressure from school administrators and the daunting task of creating engaging lesson plans for the new semester, you felt a heavy weariness threatening to swallow you whole.

As you brush your teeth, tired reflection staring back at you, he worms his way back into your thoughts once more. Saying that hearing his name and then seeing him again was unexpected would be an understatement: you were absolutely convinved (and thankful) he had moved. Where the hell did he disappear for over a month? Just to come back and show up like the annoying, irritating nuisance he is. One you can’t seem to whisk away.

Your date was one of the most disappointing nights of your life. Suna, the guy you had talked with for days, the same Suna who was so witty, intelligent and nice, was also just so blatantly uninterested. Bored. He didn’t even make the effort to ask about your day, eyes distant whenever you tried to initiate a conversation. And of course, because life hates you, you have to be reminded of that night every single day because you now see him every single day.

What’s more, you had failed the one person you’ve been able to feel interested in after that big, fat disappointment. Someone who just found himself trapped in the crossfire of your thoughts and stupid, stupid fears. Someone you were selfishly not ready to have so close. Someone wonderful who didn’t deserve your self-serving worries.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no…”, Suna seems distracted for a moment, eyes scanning the room and zeroing on your tv, which is currently turned off. He stares at it for a while, then lets out a small laugh. “Actually, maybe it’s better if I stand up”.

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

“I need to tell you something”.

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

“Sure…?”.

“When my sister was a baby, she’d cry a lot. I legit thought my ears would explode at some point”, he weighs the words carefully as he approaches you and, for some odd reason, you don’t take a step back. “She’d cry so much, all the time. And then, one day, I brought home a snoopy plush I won at the arcade. It became the one thing that would always shut her up”.

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

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

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

“I missed you. I’m sorry”, he confesses in the curve of your neck and the words dissolve underneath the thin fabric of your pjs, slowly sink into your skin and bones. “I’m so sorry”, he says again, carefully pulls back to look at you, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. Mirth flashes across his features for a moment. “Hey, are you about to throw up?”.

“No, of course not!”, you take a tentative step back but he doesn’t trust your stability and keeps a gentle hold on your arms, “why are you apologizing? I disappeared. I should be the one… I should be…”, Suna’s gaze softens, one hand rising up to touch your face but then freezing mid-air, deciding against the risk of freaking you out even more.

“Please don’t cry”.

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

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

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

“I think you just wanted to corroborate”.

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

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

“Are you disappointed?”.

You look at him, really look at him. His dishevelled hair, naturally narrowed eyes, the bridge of a perfect nose, full lips forced in a severe line. He’s searching for something in your gaze, with fierce determination. How can one person’s eyes be so penetrating? You feel naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

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

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

He’s not too late. Why does he always think he is?

You curiously watch as Suna takes his phone out and spends a few seconds tapping on it with a smile he can barely hide.

The familiar ping of a notification you haven't heard in weeks makes you stutter.

crysnoopy

-> Now we do this right.

[mywitchyblog]

Message to @alphaltrainreflection

First of all, bitch, where did I ever say anything about "eroticizing inferiority"? Like, be fucking for real. Show me the receipts. Because unless you’re reading between lines that don’t exist, nothing in my post said anything about power dynamics, submission, or “inferiority.” It sounds like you’re projecting some judgmental bullshit that I didn’t even invite into the conversation. So let’s start there—check yourself before you come into my space twisting my words to fit your weird little agenda.

Second of all, and I mean this with every ounce of sincerity, shut the fuck up. Genuinely, if you don’t like what you see, don’t interact. It’s that simple. Not everyone has to match your narrow idea of what shifting is “supposed” to be. Shifting isn’t some gated community where you get to play security guard and decide who’s allowed in. So do us all a favor, take that rigid-ass energy, and keep it to yourself, bitch.

Let’s be real for a second. You said, “sex freaks who insist on eroticizing inferiority are ruining shifting.” Bitch, nobody’s ruining anything—especially not me. All I said was that I want to get fucked. Plain and simple. If my desire to shift for a good time offends you, you’re free to move along. Shifting means different things to different people, and if sex is part of that, it’s totally valid. If I want to shift to a reality for some damn good dick, who the fuck are you to get all sanctimonious about it? Newsflash: your opinion on what’s “appropriate” doesn’t apply here, darling.

And let’s get one thing fucking clear, because clearly, you need this spelled out: even if someone did want to shift to a reality where they take on a more passive, submissive role, what of it? Why the fuck does that bother you so much? Some people spend their whole lives having to be strong, holding shit together, constantly defending themselves, and staying in control just to survive. Maybe, just maybe, they want to create a reality where they can finally let go, surrender, and trust someone who respects them and won’t take advantage of them. Imagine that—feeling safe enough to let down your guard and explore a side of yourself you don’t get to express in this life. For some people, that’s healing. For others, it’s fun. Either way, it’s their choice, not yours. So back the fuck off.

So let’s talk about this “ruining shifting” nonsense you pulled out of nowhere. Bitch, the only thing “ruining” anything is people like you, stomping into conversations uninvited and acting like you’re the gatekeeper of how others should experience their desires. You’re clinging to this imaginary rulebook about what’s “appropriate” for shifting as if that makes you morally superior, but all it does is make you look insecure, judgmental, and way too invested in other people’s business. Spoiler alert: nobody gives a fuck about your approval or needs it to validate their experience.

Here’s the truth, since you seem to need a wake-up call: shifting is deeply personal. It’s about self-determination and freedom, not conforming to some rigid-ass code of conduct set by random bitches on the internet. If someone wants to shift for spiritual growth, self-discovery, sexual exploration, or all of the above, that’s their fucking prerogative. Shaming them because it doesn’t align with your limited, vanilla-ass view of what’s “appropriate” is straight-up pathetic.

And by the way, bitch, sex is a natural, beautiful, and completely valid part of life. If I want to shift for sex, or if someone else wants to shift to feel cherished, adored, or, yes, even submissive, that’s nobody’s fucking business but ours. Maybe instead of trying to drag others down to your level of insecurity, you could take a hard look in the mirror and figure out why other people’s sexual autonomy bothers you so damn much. Because this isn’t about “ruining shifting”; it’s about you being uncomfortable with the idea of someone enjoying themselves in a way that’s different from what you deem acceptable. Maybe some self-reflection would do you some good.

To every other shifter out there who’s ever been made to feel guilty or “lesser” for shifting for your own reasons, listen up: you don’t owe anyone an explanation, and you don’t need anyone’s approval. Your DR, your fucking rules. If shifting for you is about finding love, intimacy, exploration, or yes, even some good dick, that’s your choice. Don’t let some insecure bitch shame you or make you feel like you’re somehow ruining the experience just because it doesn’t fit into their narrow little box. Shifting is about creating the life and reality you want to live—whatever the fuck that looks like for you.

So, here’s a suggestion: take your unsolicited, holier-than-thou attitude and keep it to yourself. If you can’t handle seeing people talk openly about their desires and goals for shifting, then bitch, scroll past and save yourself the outrage. Because at the end of the day, I’m not here to please you, and neither is anyone else. We’re here to live our best lives, however we see fit, and if that’s too much for you, the door’s right over there.

To everyone who’s out here shifting for what they want, keep going. Own your desires, own your reality, and don’t let anyone’s outdated judgment make you feel like you’re doing it wrong. Shifting is your journey, and if that includes exploring intimacy, vulnerability, or sexuality, you’re not alone. You’re valid, and your experience is just as real and important as anyone else’s.

Consider this your reminder that no one’s begging for your approval. I’ll be over here, unbothered, shifting for exactly what I want, and loving every fucking second of it. ✨

[ameliathornromance]

“(Y/N),” A short, but sharp wrap hit the lid of your coffin, earning a groan from you. “Suns gone down, it’s safe for you to come out now.”

You let out another groan, rolling over in the cramped space of your coffin and onto your stomach, “Noo.”

“C’mon, love, patrol will only take an hour. That’s a second in your immortal lifespan.”

With a sigh, you opened your eyes and creaked open the lid of your coffin and gave your Orc Boyfriend a bleary eyed glare. “You say that,” You pushed open the lid fully and sat up right, “but it can feel like an eternity.”

“Even with me?” Your Orc gave you a feigned look of hurt.

“That’s not what I meant! You’re putting words in my mouth.” You said grumpily.

Your boyfriend chuckled at your expression before he reached to a table behind himself, snatched up a copper flask and handed it to you.

Taking it from him, you took a swig of its contents, the cold irony liquid going down your gullet swiftly and smoothly.

He stood and stretched his arms above his head as if he was just waking up himself. “I’m going to go and grab a weapon. Don’t take too long getting changed.”

The two of you are quite the odd couple, aren’t you? It’s not every day that you see an Orc, big and brutish, together with a hauntingly elegant vampire.

When you two had first met, he was instantly taken by your disturbingly dark beauty, the way that you seemed to glide over to your victims and tell them a gorgeous tapestry of lies, before tearing it to shreds in the wake of your hunger for that sweet life blood that coursed through your victims veins.

He often wondered why you were hunting at this grotty little Tavern he frequented, you appearance was just so… out of place amongst the withered regulars, tired from the days work.

He had watched you for a few days, noticed a pattern of your victims – mostly people who were disrespectful to those around the bar staff and, if the opportunity presented itself, a monster hunter or two who were foolish enough to walk straight into your territory.

Once he felt sure that you wouldn’t take him for a target, he approached you.

It was like a spark had gone off the moment the pair of you got to chatting.

As he got to know you, he was surprised by how normal you were as a person. He had expected you to look down on him and all the other filthy mortals that surrounded you. But you didn’t act like that at all. He was also shocked to learn that you don’t sleep in a giant mansion or in a crypt in a graveyard like he had expected. “That’s a really funny stereotype.” You had told him when he brought it up to you. “I mean, it makes my life a lot easier, because it means that people don’t see me coming.” You’d laughed. “It just sucks that I have to return to a morgue every day. Just because I’m undead doesn’t mean I want to sleep next to corpses every night.”

You had wrinkled your nose, “and don’t even get me started on trying to lie in the exact same position that the coroners leave you in, it’s a nightmare. And I have to change morgues every week to make sure no one catches onto why my corpse hasn’t been buried yet.”

The moment he’d heard that, your Orc knew that you had to come and live at the encampment with him. Sleeping next to dead bodies? And having to move every week? At least when the encampment moves itself every few months.

When your boyfriend first turned up to the encampment, with you in tow, a lot of the Orcs freaked out. You found it funny that these giant creatures, born walls of muscle and ready to fight as soon as they could crawl, could be so easily frightened by something like you.

“You’re all being dramatic!” Your Orc Boyfriend had told them all, as the Orcs all crowded at the other side of the encampment as you sipped on a copper mug full of red liquid. “Look at her, she’s not going to hurt you!”

When you had smiled at them and waved – trying to be reassuring, but forgetting that you had bloodstained fangs from your beverage – all the Orcs had curled up even further away from you.

But, after a few weeks of you taking over night patrols and not drinking anyones blood – other than your boyfriends of course – everyone had decided that you could stay.

The thing that really convinced the Orcs that you would be a good ally, was when they woke up one morning, when the sun was just rising, to find that you had decimated a group of monster hunters, all of which had their throats ripped out or had been sucked dry, not even having a chance to defend themselves from your wrath.

From that point onward, all the Orcs in the camp saw you as one of their own and treated you like it.

With your new found acceptance into the camp, your Orc Boyfriend felt a wave of relief and reassurance that everyone had finally accepted you. He was worried that his feelings for you would be invalidated if he confided in any one of his friends about the nature of your relationship together, and whether or not your relationship would be accepted by the rest of the clan.

Even being with an Elf or Human would have been seen as a more acceptable relationship in their eyes over a Vampire.

But thanks to being accepted into the camp, he didn’t have to worry about anything like that now.

However… there was just one other fear.

Your boyfriend was snapped out of his memories of you, the flaps of your shared tent flying open as you stretched your arms high above your head and yawned. Fangs glinting in the faint torch light, you scratched the back of your head “Alright,” you said, “let’s get this over with.”

After picking up the axe that your boyfriend had been leaning on and grabbing a torch from one of the nearby guards, the pair of you set off to do a perimeter check.

Your Orc sank back into his thoughts as the pair of you walked around the camps wooden walls, tied together tightly with twine.

Just because his fears of you being accepted by the camp had been laid to rest, didn’t mean that there wasn’t anything else for him to worry about. There was this nagging, restlessness that writhed in the back of his head whenever he was left alone too long with his thoughts.

He knew it was stupid of him to ignore it. Your boyfriend had known it the moment the pair of you had gotten together and knew it was an inevitability: you would outlive him. Perhaps hundreds of years into the future… and forget about him.

Your Orc found it particularly difficult to ignore when the pair of you would go out on Patrol like this.

In the silence, where there was nothing else to be heard other than the hooting of owls or the trill of crickets, it was hard to distract himself with other more important matters, like guarding the encampment.

Of course, whenever you started a conversation, he would participate and reply… but that didn’t mean that the anxiety went away.

Your boyfriend was sure you were aware of your immortality too, but he supposed that you were just used to it. Another fear on top of that, how many other lovers had you loved and forgotten? Was he doomed just to become another one of those people? A small mark in the long life that would be yours?

“Babe?” Your voice broke him out of his spiralling thoughts. “Are you okay? You’ve been staring out into the darkness for ages now.”

Your Orc Boyfriend turned to look at you, meeting your worried eyes, brows furrowed with concern. “I’m fine.” Your Orc said with a smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him, doubtfully. “You’re hiding something.” You said, observantly.

His eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow. You were just too good at reading people.

“Really, it’s nothing.” The last thing that your Orc wanted, was to make you feel guilty for his anxious thoughts. He knew you had no control over your memory, or for your endless life span. It was only natural that over time you would forget things… even if they were once important to you.

His answer, clearly didn’t satisfy you. “Babe, please talk to me.” Your voice was tinged with hurt. “I don’t like it when you go quiet on me. It makes me think I’ve done something wrong.”

That made him smile. Even though you’d been alive for so long, you still acted like any worried girlfriend. Sighing, he stopped in his tracks and looked at you.

You stopped beside him.

“… How long have you been alive?” He asked you.

You recoiled, surprised by the question. After a moment, you frowned and curled a thoughtful finger under your chin. “Let’s see…” You murmured. “I was turned when I was twenty five… and that was… around four hundred years ago?” You guessed. “It became difficult to keep track of, so I stopped thinking about how old I was a long time ago.”

The next question your Orc Boyfriend wanted to ask caught in his throat. He swallowed, “and how many people have you taken as a partner?”

You pursed your lips, tilting your head. “Why does that matter?” You asked, suspiciously. You knew that your boyfriend wasn’t the kind of person to judge you based on your body count… murder victims or otherwise, but it was still strange that he was asking.

“Please, answer the question.” Your Orc pleaded. “It’s not anything weird I’m trying to get at, I promise.”

Sighing, you searched your mind for past love affairs, prospective partners names and anything else like that. “None that I can make a note of.” You said, truthfully. “All of them were flings or creepy weirdos who wanted to become a vampire.”

Upon examining your boyfriend’s face in the dim torch light that he held in his hand, you observed something sad behind his eyes. “What’s this really about?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“I… I sometimes think about what will happen after I die.” Your Orc’s voice came out in a whisper, as if he thought his words would draw danger near. “What will you do? You’ll be on your own again, to live the next few centuries… In that time, are you going to forget about me? About what we have?”

The question surprised you. You shouldn’t have been, as it was a very valid question to come from your mortal partner. It was the sad truth of being a Vampire. All the people you knew, friends, family, lovers, children – if you had any while mortal – will die. You will outlive them all.

You had grown used to it, moved on from the deaths of your family… Forgotten their names. The thought of the same thing happening to your Orc boyfriend sent a chill down your spine. An uncomfortable pit opened up in your stomach.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” A lump had formed in your throat.

It was always a possibility. That you would forget… But how could you forget someone like him? This Orc, who had the audacity to approach you in the middle of a Tavern – knowing and recognising full well what you were – and decided to chat you up? How could any Vampire- no, how could anyone forget that?

Even your creepy vampire obsessed victims hadn’t caught on until you had tried to take a bite out of them.

“You don’t have to be concerned about that.” You said, firmly. Taking your hands, you placed them on either side of your boyfriend’s head and pulled him down to your height. “You are not just anyone. You are the love of my life, and I will never ever, forget this. You decided to approach me,” You let out a small chuckle, “a bloodsucking monster-“

“You’re not-“ Your boyfriend began, but you shushed him. “I’m not done yet!” You hissed. “… and took the time to get to know me. How could I ever forget someone so brave and accepting? This is the most alive and happy I’ve been in years.” Pressing your forehead against his, you whispered, “you have made me feel mortal again. And I will never, ever forget that, so long as I live.”

The lump in your Orcs throat rose again as he pulled you close with his free arm, squeezing you tightly against his body. Although you are cold to the touch, your skin waxy and frigid, there was still a warmth glowing inside you, he could feel it against his own skin.

“I love you, you know?” You told him firmly, holding his gaze. “With all of my undead heart.”

“Even when I’m old and wrinkled?” Your Orc smiled.

“Darling I’d love you if you were a worm.” Pressing a kiss onto his lips, you smiled

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Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

[honeyhotteoks]

do you have any advice on like getting better with writing?

hey! i definitely do!! i’ve talked about this before but i have a lot of new readers, so ill start off by saying i’ve been writing for my entire life, and im 30 so thats a lot of years. if you’re a new writer, trust me i used to be there and good god if you guys could see the stuff i published in old fandoms 💀 really, really bad haha

i only say that because i by no means consider myself a great writer, there are fic writers in this space alone that i’m always so floored by and look up to…. but people have been very kind about my writing style and it’s something that took time to develop it’s not something i just “had”. outside of fic, i was a literature and creative writing major, and got very used to writing and workshopping pieces.

now! onto some actual advice —

1. read a lot and read more, but read stuff you actually like and not stuff you feel pressured to read. i love high brow litfic as much as the next pretentious english major, but i started writing a ton after reading a bunch of kindle unlimited romance because it was fun and it got me inspired

2. watch well written television for dialogue and pacing. people do not talk in proper english, they don’t say things eloquently, and there’s a lot of filler and fluff. that’s good! that’s real, so i love well written tv to show me how it’s done

3. get comfortable writing in weird ways. for years i used to sit down and be like “ah okay so chapter one” and then i was stuck, stalled out, and just felt bad about the process. when i started writing both aurora and tnt, i started in the middle. i had an image of a scene in my mind (for tnt it was actually the claim attempt) and i just wrote it out and then bounced around later

4. outlines are your friend! sometimes i’ll get a random line of dialogue in my head or an image but that doesn’t mean i’m ready to write it. i throw it in one big outline so i don’t lose it.

5. if you’re wanting to write really good smut i have two suggestions but please only do this to your personal comfort level. this is what works for me but do not make yourself uncomfortable— for good smut, i watch porn for reference and for good dirty talk, i listen to nsfw audio. i like to really write the visuals for smut and make it immersive but lol i haven’t experienced everything ive written about and logistics of the body are hard!! i usually find a video or an audio and let that help guide the imagery im writing.

6. be comfortable with the editing process. i know the temptation to post something the minute you finish it is there, but sleep on it. come back and edit it, read the dialogue out loud if you have to. i swear you’ll make the piece better just by leaving it and coming back.

7. don’t be afraid to post. most people are kind, and the worst thing that will happen is you don’t get a lot of notes. that’s okay, it’s a process.

8. research! as i’m writing anything, even a silly little oneshot, im doing research on something. i am hyper aware that im not korean and have never spoken korean or lived in korea, so for my fic i try my hardest to ground elements of that in reality. i truly cannot tell you how many hours ive spent reading like korean case law on revenge porn just for like 3 lines of dialogue. and you don’t have to go that crazy, i’m arguably too intense, but i do think some of that helps the story and the dialogue feel real.

9. describe something real- every place in my writing is based on something real. every apartment, hotel, cafe, venue, etc., they’re all either something i’ve found online or drawn from my life and use that to my advantage. i use apartment listings and save photographs, i do google map walks to see what neighborhoods look like, anything to get the feel of a place or an experience. for the christmas chapters of aurora, i watched hours of gwangju walking tour videos on youtube while i was writing just to understand how to describe their walk in the snow. it really helps me to have a visual that i can put words to.

10. find your weak points and see what other writers do differently. if you want to improve, you should find a small place to start. is it dialogue? overall plot? smut? etc. - i’ll never forget being on a creative writing retreat, and a very important writing professor said to me “everything you write is very pretty but you haven’t said anything. you have to decide to say something.” that feedback hurt, but sent me down a much better writing path when i realized where i was falling short and not challenging myself.

okay i hope some of this was helpful and if it’s a mess im sorry im on mobile. i really just love writing so deeply and will always talk about it, so i hope this was helpful 💗

[gojodickbig]

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen. | Gojo Satoru x f!Reader.

warnings: self-doubt, mutual pinning, mental health struggles, emotional hurt/comfort.

A/N: hehe i know i said that i don't write but this is a little thing i wrote yesterday, (first time posting something that’s not a smau, so bear with me!) this is for my avoidant attachment cuties who have so much love to offer but that are also always scared of ruining things with the person they love and think they’re not enough. i feel you—i struggle with this too. but remember, you’re always enough and deserve love so don't push it away. i wrote this while crying (lol) because i found myself in a similar situation with my actual boyfriend when we first started "dating". hope you enjoy reading, let me know what you think!

also likes and reblogs are appreciated! :)

word count: 2320.

“No,” you say, stepping back and resting your hands on the kitchen counter. “Stop that. You don’t mean what you’re saying right now.”

“You’re wrong,” Gojo says, stepping closer to you. “I mean every word.” He raises a hand, reaching out to touch you. “Please, look at me.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, avoiding his touch. “You should go.”

“I love you.”

“You don’t.”

He falters, and for a moment, the silence between you and him feels like a heavy weight. His gaze never leaves yours, though you can’t bring yourself to meet it.

“I do,” he insists, his voice low but unwavering. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

“I’m a mess,” you choke out, your voice trembling as you turn away, desperate to hide the tears that threaten to fall. “I don’t deserve your love. I’m broken.”

“You deserve better.” Your voice cracks. “Someone who isn’t afraid of loving you.”

The silence stretches as Gojo watches you, the pain in his eyes mirroring yours. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, as if he’s struggling to hold himself together. He takes in the way your shoulders hunch, the way your hands grip the counter behind you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. The tension is palpable, each second stretching out, heavy with unspoken fears.

“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice hoarse, filled with raw emotion that makes your heart stutter. “You’re all I deserve—and more than I ever thought I could have. Don’t you see? It’s always been you.”

He steps forward, ignoring the space you tried to put between you and him, until there’s only a breath between you. “None of that matters to me. I see you, all of you. And I love you. Every part of you, even the parts you think are too much to bear.”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice cracks, a sob catching in your throat. “I can’t… I can’t let you in. You’ll get hurt, and I can’t let that happen.”

“Then let me decide,” he says softly, his voice full of tenderness. “Let me be the one to choose.”

You shake your head, wiping your eyes, not wanting him to see how vulnerable you feel. “You don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t know how to love anyone… I don’t even know how to love myself.”

He steps even closer, his voice a soft but firm whisper. “I’m not asking for perfection. I’m asking for you. All of you, as you are. Because you are enough for me.”

You back away, the ache in your chest intensifying, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are full of something you can’t name, something that pulls at the deepest parts of you, something that terrifies you. “I can’t… I can’t let you do this.”

“Why?” Gojo’s question is quiet, almost a plea. “Why can’t you believe me? Why can’t you see that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere?”

The words catch in your throat. The wall you’ve spent so long building starts to crack, but you can’t let it fall. Not now. Not like this.

“Because I’m afraid,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. “Afraid that if I let you in, you’ll leave when you realize how much of a disaster I really am.”

He takes another step forward, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer, some sign that you’ll let him in. “I’m not going anywhere,” Gojo says, his voice steady. “I’m staying.”

Your breath hitches, and for the first time, you let yourself meet his gaze, really meet it. His eyes are open, raw, like he’s offering you every part of himself. The tenderness in his expression is almost too much to bear.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” you say, shaking your head, but your voice is quieter now, softer.

“I know.” He murmurs, his hand hovering just inches from you, like he’s waiting for you to make the choice. “But I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of your pain. I’ll take all of it if it means I get to love you.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you try to wipe it away quickly, but he reaches out and gently catches your wrist. “Let me love you. Let me stay.”

The words hang in the air between you—heavy and final. For a moment, the room feels like it’s shrinking, the tension pulling at your chest, at your heart. You want to believe him, want to let yourself fall into the safety he’s offering. But the fear, the doubt—it feels like a weight too great to lift.

“I’m not… I’m not ready,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the truth. “I’m not ready to let anyone in. Not like this.” You look at him, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Gojo, you should go.”

He lowers his hand but doesn’t pull away. He steps closer, closing the distance until you’re standing so close you can feel the warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breath. “You don’t have to be ready,” he says softly, his voice low and insistent. “Not right now. Don’t send me away. Just let me stay.”

You don’t know how to respond, don’t know what to do with the storm of emotions crashing inside you. But in that moment, you feel something shift. Maybe you can’t let him in completely—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to push him away completely either.

“I’m too much for you,” you whisper, almost as if saying it out loud makes it more real. “I can’t fix myself. No one can… not even you.”

Gojo takes another step forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. His touch is warm, grounding. “You don’t need to fix yourself. You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to be anything but you. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many times you tell me to.”

A shudder runs through your body as the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over. You close your eyes, trying to hide the vulnerability from him, but he doesn’t let you. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you with a tenderness that feels like home.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. “I’m so scared that if I let you in, I’ll destroy everything.”

“You’re not going to destroy anything,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “You’re not going to destroy me, and even if you do, I wouldn’t mind being hurt by you if that means I could actually be with you, to love you. I’m choosing to stay, even if it’s messy. Even if it’s hard.”

Gojo pulls back just slightly, his thumb gently wiping the tears from your face. His gaze softens, full of affection. “I wish you could have my eyes for just a moment, to see how perfect and incredible you are. You’re an amazing woman. Don’t you see that?” he says quietly, his voice filled with warmth.

"I’m not perfect,” you say, your voice cracking again as more tears fall.

He lifts your chin with his finger, making you meet his gaze. “I don’t want you to be perfect. I never did. I just want you—exactly as you are. All the imperfections and scars, they’re part of what makes you who you are. And that’s more than enough for me.”

You inhale shakily, the weight of his words settling into your chest. “But what if I can’t love you the way you deserve?”

Gojo’s hand cups your cheek now, his touch gentle and sure. “You don’t have to love me perfectly. You just have to try. We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time. But you don’t have to be afraid to love me, or to let me love you.”

You let out a broken laugh, wiping your eyes. “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

“Then let me help you,” Gojo says, his voice soft, yet strong. “I’ll be right here, through the fear, the pain, and everything in between. Like i said, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying. Always."

His words wrap around you like a blanket, offering warmth you didn’t think you could feel again. Maybe you’re not ready to let go of all your walls, but maybe, just maybe, you don’t need to be. Because with him here, you’re starting to think that it’s okay to take that first step toward trusting someone with your heart.

And as you stand in his arms, the fear doesn’t go away—but it starts to feel like something you can face, as long as he’s by your side.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe him. Hope stirs in your chest, fragile but present. Maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to do this alone.

© gojodickbig on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[snowmoonwrites]

Virus: Chibify! Chapter1

Tokyo Debunker fic. General audience, Full Fluffy crack. Let's put the ghouls into onesies! First victim? Lyca!

A new Curse have been going rampant in the Academy. No one knew how it started, who was the perpetrator, or what was the reason for it all. What everyone knew is that it left people as toddlers for 24 hours. Not more, not less. Given that it was not malicious in nature, at least it didn’t seem to be so, the Academy said it is an anomaly virus that will have to run its course.

That is what you all have been told, at least. You thought that the ghouls, just like usual, will be immune to this as well. At least, that was what you thought. Until you stepped into Obscuary’s dorm to get a signature from Lyca on one of the forms. When asked, Rui told you Lyca hadn’t left his room that day left, and feel free to barge in. While uncomfortable with the idea, after several minutes of futile knocking you opened the door. And what welcomed you was a sight you weren’t ready for. Instead of the grown-up Lyca, in the bed was a small child, curled up into a ball.

As you went closer, the boy’s eyes snapped open, turning to face you. A growl left his throat, but it immediately died out when he saw you. He probably retained at least some part of his memories if he recognized you. Or maybe your scent was familiar. Either way, he tilted his head to the side, looking positively like a puppy. Oh, my! That is exactly what he was after all! OH NO! You shook yourself, this is not the time for this! You lifted him up, bundling him into too-big clothes, and ran out. 

“Rui!” When his head appeared at the other end of the stairs you showed him Lyca in your arms. “I don’t think you all are immune to the virus.”

“Clearly not,” he replied letting you pass by. “I don’t think we have anything that would fit him.”

Oh, yeah, you can’t make Lyca go through the day butt naked. Clearly, that would not be wise. But you also couldn’t let him bi in his oversized clothes either. You knew from experience that asking the Academy will do you no good.

“I’ll manage it somehow. I’ll bring him back when he is back to a reasonable age.” You nodded to Rui while walking out of the dorm. While walking through the garden you opened your phone and called the one person you knew will be able to get you onesies in less than an hour. 

“Yes”

“Umm… Not to sound strange… But would you be able to get me onesies for children around…” You looked at Lyca in your arms. “How old are you now?” When the answer was a confused face you let it go. “Two? Maybe three years old of age?”

“The virus?”

“The virus. It turns out you ghouls are not at all immune to it either.” Maybe your voice showed a bit too much of glee as you could hear a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line.

“How many do you need?”

“Around 21?” 

“Got it. Come pick it up in an hour.”

The phone call ended without any more words exchanged. It was typical, you just shrugged and made your way towards Frostheim. You looked down at Lyca, bouncing him a bit in your arms.

“How about we go see Subaru-kun after we get you some new clothes?”

Lyca’s ears perked up, it seemed like he wasn’t fully able to control his transformation. Whether it was an age thing or the Cursevirus, you didn’t know. He looked up at you, very excited as his tail wagged in a furious rhythm. You would have bet your entire life that Lyca knew who you were talking about.

When you stepped into Frostheim you were greeted by several students tending to small toddlers. They sent you sympathetic looks. At least theirs aren’t ghouls. You are still afraid what will happen with some of the others when they get turned into toddlers. Will Ed become a human again? The virus was too confusing for you, and even Yuri said he knows next to nothing about it. Which clearly hurt his pride to admit.

Well, given the situation, you decided to focus on the task at hand. You walked up to Jin’s room and knocked 5 times as usual. When your phone vibrated, you walked right in, knowing you got permission to enter. Or at least you thought that was what it meant! But clearly not! Jin was half naked, pulling up his shirt. You squeaked and put a hand before the small Lyca’s eyes.

“You should read the message.” Jin drawled, not in a hurry to hide his naked torso. And you felt no shame at looking. Well, one of your arms was holding Lyca, the other covering his eyes. You had no free hand. What were you supposed to do? Turn around? Maybe? Walk out? Possibly. But you didn’t care at all. 

“Where are the onesies?” You looked over the room, looking for a big pile of children’s clothing. You spotted a box next to the bed, nodded towards it. “Is that it?” 

Jin grunted in an affirmative. Finally finishing buttoning up his shirt. “I did not choose them. I take no criticism for them.”

“Got it.” You set down Lyca on the bed and opened up the box, lifting out the nicely folded onesies. They were all animal themed… Hmmm… You looked through them. Some of them, you instantly knew which ghoul should wear when they get infected. Some, you were hesitant about. You fished out the wolf one and helped Lyca into it. A cheesy choice. But he looked so cute! 

Your phone’s folder will be full of cute ghouls! You snapped a quick photo before helping Lyca down from the bed.

“Let’s go surprise Subaru-kun, hmm?” You reached out, and Lyca grabbed onto your hand, pulling you towards the door.

“Go! Let’ go! Let’s go to Suba-kun!”

“I’ll pick up the clothes on my way home.” You called out to Jin as you let Lyca pull you towards the door. He stepped in front of you two, eliciting a growl from Lyca’s throat. 

“I’ll make one of the brats bring it to your dorm. The child might not turn back till much later.” He patted your head then stole a kiss onto your forehead before moving out of the way and letting the kiddified Lyca pull you towards Hotarubi. Clearly following his nose rather than basing anything on his knowledge. Thankfully the onesies came with protective shoes, so you won’t have to carry all the boys around all day.

During your walk you wrote to Subaru to let him know that you are bringing a virus affected Lyca. He wrote back about his willingness to host you both till Lyca got better. You thanked him, telling him you two are on your way. 

When you arrived at the edge of the dorm, where sunny weather turned into everlasting rain, Subaru stood there waiting for you with a spare umbrella. Lyca made uppie hands towards him. Subaru instantly took him into his hands.

“Ah, let me hold the umbrella so you won’t get wet.” You took the umbrella and put it over them. While you got a little wet, at least the small Lyca got through the rain without a speck of raindrop. All the while he was talking off Subaru’s ear about all the things with the enthusiasm only small children have.

As you walked into the room, Haku threw a towel on your shoulder, scolding you for not taking care of yourself better. You let him and Zenji fuss over you, keeping an eye on Lyca, who seemed to be an energetic child, who liked to talk off Subaru’s ear. He totally had favourite persons. He didn’t even spare a glance at Haku, but pulled you closer so you all could listen to his tales about chasing squirrels in the forest. Whether these were such fond memories that they stayed with him, or if they got clearer due to the virus, you didn’t know. It was certainly cute.

What made your day perhaps was the way Haku got a carton box out of nowhere, and put the small Lyca into it, who immediately claimed it as his new den. And if Haku tried to go even an inch closer that Lyca deemed safe, his ears would perk up, a growl leaving him. But then he would look at Subaru, waiting to be chastised and he would take out his best puppy eyes to look pitiful.

Your phone’s gallery held new pictures, a folder dedicated to smol ghouls now. You were looking forward to gathering more.

ALSO Guys. I made a Kofi. So feel free to send me your love over there too <3

[redvexillum]

Hey there my sweetest, beloved Vexi ♡

I just wanted to share something personal with you that you can then share with others because I know that they feel the same.

Writing has always been my passion. It's been the one thing that has kept me afloat in my life. Regardless of whether people love my writing or hate it, I would continue for the sake of continuing because it is my life.

But when I rejoined fandom spaces, I was terrified after hearing stories of how the culture had changed significantly. Interaction is lower, and hate has unfortunately always made its home in these communities. Given I share fanfiction solely to share with the aforementioned communities, I found myself afraid that I would get hate messages. I was afraid I wouldn't have a community that would stand up for me if that were to happen. While it would never deter me from what I love, I was scared that friendships and positivity were long dead in this space. Fandom felt lonely.

You know what though? I have met wonderful person after wonderful person. And then I met you too. There you are, getting some of the most horrendous messages I've ever seen sent to another human being, and you continue to push for positivity - smiling and laughing with us about how much you just want to see people happy.

Then you went on to start share some of the wonderful messages you recieved throughout that ordeal, only to begin writing positive affirmations and thoughts for us. Once upon a time, I struggled to accept this sort of positivity, I will admit that. When I was having a rough time, I would often see messages like that as 'hollow' for a lack of better words. I would be angry or bitter that others could think like that when I struggled so much to feel like those words should have meant something to me.

While time has passed since I was that person, I still remember the feeling of hopelessness, yet that doesn't deter from the fact that people like you - and countless others - single handedly restored my faith in these communities.

People like you remind me why I cling to my ideals of treating everyone with kindness no matter what. To try to understand other people. To help others. These are all things that bring us closer together. People like you, @silva-daemonium, @fraugwinska, @macabr3-barbi3, @chrisemrysfics, @melodyonthewireless, @dewdropdinosaur, @xalygatorx, @kewpikayo, @jurijyuu, @jalicecookie, AND SO MANY MORE do so much to support those around you.

All of this came about because I wanted to say thank you for posting those short little messages of encouragment. I know that I have appreciated them. Sure, they might seem a little cheesy to me on a morning when I'm tired - but they really make me smile, and prepare me to tackle whatever the day gives.

You're the beating heart of positivity.

It's a fairytale ending to the horror stories I expected.

I know that other people will see this too, so I just wanted to wish everyone that sees this a relaxing morning, afternoon, evening - timezone in general! You're here, and you've worked hard to be here all this time. Everything you've needed to do to achieve that, you've done. That's huge. I'm so proud of everyone, and my DMs are always open to anyone who might be struggling or just wants to talk. I'll always aim to help my community in the same way that Vexi has demonstrated.

Love to you all, and again, thank you for your messages, Vexi!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Cirice, I honestly don’t have the words to fully capture how much your kindness means to me. You are truly one of the most thoughtful, beautiful souls I’ve ever had the honor to meet, and I can’t thank you enough for your words. Knowing that something I’ve done has made even a small impact on people like you is still so surreal to me. I’m just deeply grateful that you’re part of this community.

You and so many others are the reason why I’ve stayed here longer than in any other fandom. It’s been the most heartwarming experience. This community, especially people like you, has genuinely transformed my perspective on what fandoms can be: a space filled with compassion, creativity, and connection.

Thank you for sharing your story, for giving me (and others) a piece of your heart. I hope your words reach others, inspiring them to create, to feel they belong, and to understand how wonderful it is to be part of something like this. Knowing we’re all here together, finding meaning in these connections, it makes the world feel a little less lonely and a lot brighter. 💖

Also tagging the people that didn't get properly tagged because tumblr is broken: @dewdropdinosaur @xalygatorx @kewpikayo @jurijyuu @jailcecookie

[frodopotter7]

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

?

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

[darukee]

This is fucking gay

Nicole and Jecka are at the Bathroom, specifically the one close to the Emergency’s Exit and the vending machine. As usual, they are skipping classes.

— I’ve already told you this bathroom is horrible. — Jecka says, holding a Starbucks’ coffee cup.

— Yeah bitch, but it is close to the vending machine, and I was thirsty for a Pepsi. — Nicole concludes, opening her recently bought Pepsi can.

—  We came here just so you could get a Pepsi?

—  See? That alone proves my life fucking sucks.

Jecka slurps from her Starbuck, making Nicole notice it only now.

— Did you skip class to buy Starbucks?

— Do I look like the type of bitch who skips class to buy Starbucks?

— Kinda.

— No… I asked Jeffrey to get one for me.

— And he did?

— I did my sexy voice. — Jecka says it, using the mentioned tone.

— Makes sense. Gimme a sip.

— No? This was like, $6 dollars.

— Fuck bitch, lemme take one sip, I’m not asking for the entire cup.

— One sip is like, $0.50, you know that?

— Are you charging me to get one fucking sip?

— … Do you have money?

— Do I look like someone who would pay for a sip?

— No, that’s why I charged.

— Don’t be a whore, let me sip. — Nicole leans hard into Jecka, trying to put her mouth on the straw. 

— No, get off! — Jecka pushes her away, making Nicole stop going after her stuff.

— Did I say that you look really pretty today, Jecka? — as she usually does with boys, Nicole starts to talk in a slower and comfortable tone.

— Flirting won’t work, Nicole.

— I’m not flirting for fuckin’ Starbucks. — she leans on the wall — You just… Look pretty on that angle. I could take a pic.

— Now I’m confused if you are being a manipulative bitch or a gay one. — she slurps again.

— I’m down to fuck for that Starbucks.

— Now you are contradicting yourself.

— No bitch, let’s fuck right here for that sip.

— I would not fuck you.

— Yeah you would.

— Yeah I would… Is that gay?

— Is it gay to fuck your best friend?

— Why are you asking me this?

— So you can notice how stupid your question is.

Suddenly, Kelly and Emily enter the Bathroom, chatting. As they see the girls, Kelly asks:

— Why are you guys always skipping classes?

— Like you two aren’t doing the same thing. — Nicole hits back.

— Is it gay to fuck to get Starbucks? — Jecka looks at Emily, waiting for an answer.

— It depends, who are you fuckin’? — the former asks.

— This bitch won’t let me take a sip of her Starbucks! — raising her voice, Nicole brings back her point.

— I want a sip of that. — Kelly leaves her standard position, with her hands behind her neck, and approaches Jecka

— Yeah, sure. — Jecka inclines the cup so Kelly can lean a bit and take a sip.

— Oh, so it is personal. — Nicole rolls her eyes.

— I mean, it wasn’t at first. But I thought it would be fun.

— First you refuse to fuck me and now you take away my sip?

— That 's gay. — Kelly interrupts.

— No, I don’t think Starbucks is that gay yet. — Nicole answers

— I meant the sleeping with her part?

— What? Should I lie?

Ari and Karen enter the bathroom too, hearing the commotion.

— Oh, so is everyone skipping today, huh. — Nicole rolls her eyes again, leaning even more on the wall.

— Ari, — Emily walks to the red-haired — is it gay to want to sleep with your best friend? 

— Yes I would sleep with you.

— What? You are not my best friend.

— I know, I just saw the window there and, uh, well

— You want to sleep with me?

— I would be down to sleep with anyone here, honestly…

Again, Jecka slurps from her Starbucks’ coffee cup.

— BITCH, GIMME A SIP! — Nicole yells, getting out of the wall and approaching Jecka, with palms up.

— You have your Pepsi.

— IT’S A FUCKING PEPSI, WHAT I WOULD DO WITH A PEPSI?

— … Drink it? — Karen suggests. Nicole and Jecka turns her eyes on her, confused and with some disapproval.

The brunette one answers first:

— No one fucking asked you.

— Yeah, Karen, no one asked you.

— Why is it suddenly against me?

— ‘Cause you are a virgin? — Emily intervenes — And we hate virgins.

— I’m not a virgin! In that case, Ari is also a virgin!

— You really had to use “also”, huh. — Nicole points out.

— W-What? I’m not a virgin! I fucked lots of man!

—Yeah, but you are gay, so those, like, do not count. — Emily says it, looking at Ari.

— What the fuck?

— It comes down to the gay sex again… — Jecka slurps on her coffee.

— How did it started in gay sex? — Karen asks, being put on the conversation for the first time now.

— Oh, Nicole wanted to fuck Jecka. — Kelly explains, putting her hands back.

— Understandable. — Ari shakes her head in subtle approval.

— What? For her Starbucks. — Nicole says it with no hesitance.

— It’s 2008, you do not need excuses anymore. — Ari puts a hand on Nicole’s shoulder.

— I really just want Starbucks. — Nicole pushes Ari’s hand away, with displeasure.

— Jecka, I think saying “no” to that is kinda homophobe. — Kelly looks at Jecka.

— What? How is that homophobe?

— Yeah, Jecka, that 's pretty homophobe of you. — Emily also looks at Jecka. At some point, every girl stares at her. Nicole then completes.

— Yeah, you’re being a homophobe.

— I think you guys should fuck… — Ari speaks her thoughts, a bit too loud — N-Not that I want to watch it…

— It’s not like I will refuse to let her sip from my drink, I was just having fun with her begging.

— Huh… — Nicole stares deeply at the blonde — You never looked hotter.

— Oh my God, they’re fucking. — Emily says with shock.

— WE ARE NOT FUCKING. — exclaims Nicole.

— We could be. I give an amazing head.

— I do not think you know how lesbian sex work.

Footsteps come closer. Principal Lynn enters the bathroom with a not pleasant face. Everyone stares at her, showing surprise.

— What are all of you doing here? Go to your respective classes!

— Fuck. — swears Emily, taking down an adderall and rushing out of the room. Promptly, all of the girls leave the bathroom. [...]

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Portato

Chapter Thirty Seven

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Pamela, Charlie, Jesse, Benny, Kevin and Sam

Word Count: ~3250 with other media

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, Tricia did read through the first scene, but all mistakes are still on me, Dean goes to confession, our reader's self esteem overrides all logic and prodding.

Series Masterlist

There have always been certain women in your life that you just didn’t click with. Some you wanted to, badly. Others you admired from afar, too shy or self conscious to really try to form any kind of bond, be it professional, educational or friendly. There were some you wanted nothing to do with. 

And then there was Pamela.

She was someone you had always admired, still slightly feared, but had resigned yourself to maintaining a simple and mildly judgemental, professional relationship. So when she woke you up, hungover and definitely disheveled as you were, on the bus to Phoenix, you were wary.

“Hey, sorry, but uh— could you come with me? Please?” She looked a little spooked and not exactly as apologetic as she sounded, but you nodded and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“What’s going on?” You said quietly, aware of all the other people around you as you shuffled after her to the actual bunk room in the back of the bus. Except no one back there was even asleep.

“Tell her what you told me. Or everything. Whatever comes last.” Pamela seemed pissed as she snapped at Dean and a sudden dread flooded your senses.

He sat on a bottom bunk, fingers rubbing over his lips in consideration as he glared at Pamela’s demands.

You knew something was up with the buddy system after the last show, but neither you nor Charlie had found anything substantial online. Which left in person or direct phone call threats. You’d been with the band long enough to have seen some shit, from overzealous fans to crazy ex’s and even a few stalkers. Benny’s team didn’t mess around when something had weight behind it. Outside of Vegas, you thought it was over.

By the look in Dean’s eyes, it was worse than you had guessed.

“Who died?” Was possibly the worst thing you could have said to Dean, by the journey his face went through.

He just gaped at you before Pamela dove back in.

“Wait— did someone actually die?”

“Will you let me speak for my damn self?! Christ, Pammy. Sorry, Trouble, this is not how I wanted you to find any of this out. Sit down.”

“Oh boy.”

There wasn’t any furniture back there and it felt oddly intimate to sit next to Dean on a borrowed bed like that. Every other bed was too far away. Instead, you slinked down to the floor and popped your knees up in front of you, like a child during circle time, but with something to hold onto.

“What’s going on? Is this about that guy outside of Wednesday’s show?”

“Kind of.”

Pamela exhaled and uncrossed her arms. “I’m gonna go– I don’t think I’m needed and it’s just gonna rile me up if I hear it all over again. But I’ll be up front if either of you need me, got it?”

“Good call— and, uh, thanks.” Dean looked up at her. Pamela nodded and left you and Dean alone.

The air grew thick and you had to get something off your chest before Dean got into whatever had Pamela so on edge. “Are you okay?”

Dean sighed and picked at the seam of his jeans. “I thought I was, you know? I’ve been putting in the work, but being back there, and then seeing Alastair— Having Cain at the fucking show. Really messed with my head.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, you’ve heard about Cain, Cain Charles. I used to box at his gyms all the time.”

You nodded into the pretzel of your arms.

“Well, I wasn’t really boxing— not most of the time. I was fighting in underground MMA type bouts. And Alastair, the slimy looking dude outside the first show? He was my trainer.”

Dean let that sit, but it didn’t take long for the pieces to start to fall together.

“The bruises— I remember how you were always hurt or stiff all the time.”

“Yeah, don’t miss that one bit either.” Dean rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at you, hunched as if he’s expected to get yelled at.

“So, what do they want? Why’s Benny got the guys on high alert?”

“Me.”

It was almost comical the way your mind looped around that simple word. Lots of people wanted Dean. And you couldn’t blame them, but those connotations didn’t quite fit the conversation so far.

“For what?”

“Back in the ring, at their beck and call, probably licking their boots while I’m at it.”

You straightened up, urgency starting to get the better of you. “Dean, I need more information here. Were you, like, an indentured servant? Do you owe them money? Why are they after you for real?”

“No, I, uh— I was there willingly. Started off with a fight at a club and when one of the goons came over to break it up, the guy didn’t kick me out. Instead he gave me a card, told me I had ‘promise’.”

“So you just decided one day to be a cage fighter? Being a rockstar wasn’t enough or something?” You balked, trying to figure out what drove Dean to that place. 

“Look, I’m not perfect, okay? And neither are you, so please, let me explain myself a little?”

You folded back in on yourself. “Yeah, of course, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that— just give me the benefit of the doubt here, at least in the beginning.”

You twisted your fingers in front of your lips and tossed an imaginary key behind your back. Dean huffed out a laugh and cleared his throat.

“So, uh, do you remember before the fourth album we were kind of burnt out and Pamela and Lee were going through the last divorce and Bobby was kind of still AWOL because he’d just gotten married himself and Sam was fine by then and Adam was getting all those scholarships and shit?”

“You’re talking, like, almost back to the summer before the shit with Cas, right?”

  “There abouts, yeah.”

“Okay, vaguely. I remember being busy, Zacarriah had just been promoted and he was doing a lot of poking around. So I wasn’t doing much with you guys in person— since it was between tours.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Charlie and I played a lot of Call of Duty that break.”

“Okay?”

“I just— I was low. And then, finally, we got back into the studio and I could do something, be useful. I was able to sort of bury the darkness.”

“But it didn’t go away?”

Dean shook his head.

“Fast forward and I get this mafia-looking dude telling me I was worth more than just what my dad wanted me to be.”

“Dean—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been over that with Missouri too, just sayin’ why it was such a compliment.”

 Dean rubbed his palms against each other and kind of looked behind you as he kept talking. “So I checked it out, the fights were underground but not, like, dirty. I mean, they fought dirty as hell, but I didn’t feel like I was getting an STD just by walking in.”

“Okay, so you’re no Tyler Durden. What made you stay?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“The rush of a fight. And you know— I’m hard up for praise— it’s why I love the spotlight and the fans. But it wasn’t like it is with the band. I didn’t even have to work as hard at it as I do with the music— it was only me up there. I didn’t have to answer to anybody else. It was just my hands and the other guys’ that I had to worry about. No harmonies, no compromises. It was easy. And I thought it made me free.”

Dean didn’t meet your eyes, he looked at the wall behind you or the floor. You had never seen him so ashamed, or so outright confessional.

 You inched forward, the need to comfort him tingled along your arms and into your useless hands. “What made you stop? Besides the last tour, obviously, you couldn’t be in two places at once.”

“Uh, so, Cas must have been following me because there was one night where it got really bad. I got really bad— just pummeled a guy to the mat. They— there’s not really refs, more like bouncers to hold back the crowds. But it took three of them to haul my ass to the showers. Cain has doctors on retainer, nobody was gonna call an ambulance and rat the place out. But, he wasn’t moving the last time I got a look at him.”

Dean looked up and into your eyes.

“I still don’t know if that guy is okay or anything. That was my last fight before we hit the road. And Cas called me out, eventually. Let me stew with the unknown and the guilt for a good month first. I didn’t know he needed me. He had his own shit with the kid and stuff then. I just thought— I don’t know. Anyway, you probably got a good handle on what happened after that.”

“So, they’re blackmailing you? Cain and Allistair?”

“Alastair.”

“Him.”

“No, but they’re watching you. They know— they know everyone I care about. Cain thinks I’m letting you guys save me from my true nature. He’s big on instinct and fight or flight crap. But he’s very logical about it all. Alastair—,” Dean blew out the breath he had been holding and dropped onto the floor in front of you, back against the drawers beneath the beds. “He’s a fucking sadist. He wants people to hurt, it’s not just about power—- it’s torture.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you think we need to go to the authorities? They sound dangerous. Really dangerous.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not an option. Cain is too good, his business is airtight. Nobody talks or walks away. That’s why he’s so insistent. He thinks he can bring me back.”

You didn’t want to know, but you needed to know, so you asked, “do you— would you?”

“No. Not anymore. I’ve come too far. There’s days when I think about it. When it would be easier to just be the beast again. But I’ve got too much to lose. I have the band family, Charlie, Gibson, you—- So no, Trouble, I ain’t going back.”

You smiled at him, softly, not really letting him see how that sent your face burning with all the worry still hanging in the air.

“How can I help? Do I need to enlist Charlie and get our devices better hidden? Change reservations to keep people off our trail? The tour is set, we can’t cancel any dates—- but we can be more careful.”

“Uh, wow, I guess check in with Bobby and Benny? They’re already on top of things, but more eyes on it couldn’t hurt. I— is there anything you want to know? I feel like you’re taking this really well. Like instant problem solving mode. Not even flinching over what— the things I did.”

Dean leveled you with an unimpressed glare and cleared his throat. “Hit me. I can take it.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes as you resituated your legs and propped yourself up on your right hand. “It’s a lot, you know? We knew you were struggling. And we all had been on the receiving end of your temper enough to know not to poke the bear.---- But, I guess, it’s nice knowing, for sure. Like there was something there—- Someones there holding you back, keeping you from us. I’m sorry you had to go through that all alone.”

Dean bumped your knee with his. “Don’t need your pity. But, maybe, your forgiveness. Because I was fucking rotten to you—- more than once.”

“You sure were.” You looked him dead on.

“You’re a part of this band. Whether we say it or not. Even Kevin knows you’re in charge.”

“Pam’s in charge, she just lets everyone run things,” you quipped, an old Bobby line.

Dean chuckled. “Fine. But I am sorry for the things I called you. And how much I leaned on you after Sam and Bobby pulled my head out of my ass.”

“Don’t be.” Dean gave you a face. “Okay, the first part, yes. Be. But the after– that was— it meant a lot. It gave me something to look forward to. Made me feel like I was doing actual friend things instead of work things. Kind of miss the calls— the check-ins. It was a good part of my routine.”

“Yeah, me too.” He sounded so soft, like a favorite blanket waiting for you on the back of the couch. He was right there spilling his guts out and all you wanted to do was crawl into his lap and tell him it was going to be alright. 

You stayed put.

“Thank you— you’ve been— Christ, I couldn’t have done this without you, you know? You pulled me through— in so many ways.”

“Of course. You’d do the same for any one of us. Hell, you did it for Sam more times than I can count.”

“Yeah, but he’s my kid brother. It’s not the same.”

You hummed. “Yeah, but still. Anytime.”

“Hopefully not too soon.”

You huffed a laugh. “Agreed.”

You stretched and sat up on your knees, groaning at being on the floor for so long. “Okay— well, we’ve got like an hour before we get to the hotel. Do you need anything from me before we get to our rooms?”

Dean shook his head and stood up, quickly leaning down to help you the rest of the way. “I should be good, but yeah, check with Benny for the details. And, please, just watch out for Donna and the girls? They’ll be guarded, but I don’t want them thinking we’re neglecting them while we circle the wagons for our own.”

“On it.”

Dean put his hand on the ball of your shoulder and squeezed. You cupped his forearm and caught his weighted stare. It was like he was looking for something behind your eyes, or something there confused him, but either way he didn’t mention it. Instead, he just squeezed your arm again, gave you a guilty smile, and headed back to the front of the bus.

Charlie was invested in Operation Anti-Fight Club, her words not yours. Once you explained, very briefly, what had been going on, she immediately fell into a rabbit hole online. You even had to drag her out of her hotel room to get her to the venue in time for rehearsal the next morning in preparation for the Phoenix show. 

Somehow, she got sound and lights set up with a new venue in what felt like a flash, but was really two hours of back and forth with the band setting up cues and verifying the setlist. 

So when she started texting you during SPS’ set that night, about your conversation with Dean, you were a little worried she was distracted again.

You didn’t reply. From the moment you told her about Dean’s little heart-to-heart she had been asking leading questions and giving you knowing looks. Too worried she was either teasing you or getting your hopes up over nothing, you tried not to overthink it. Sure, Dean had broken things off with Bela with someone in mind. And it maybe, kinda, sorta seemed like he was waiting for you to do something before he left the bunkroom yesterday. But you could have been reading it all wrong. 

It was an emotional conversation.

It didn’t mean he wanted to kiss you.

Right?

Right.

Except now all you could think about was New Year’s. And how you wished you were sober enough to really remember what Dean’s lips felt like against yours.

You had never let yourself want him, not truly. You couldn’t help loving him, you were only human. But admitting to yourself that you wanted him and wanted him to want you back was a death sentence. There was no hope after that. There was not a chance Dean Winchester could be with you, or even someone like you. 

So why were you letting yourself think about it now?

You weren’t, you decided, and made small talk with Jesse instead. 

“You excited to get some days off at home next week?”

“You know it. I miss ridin’, miss sleepin’ somewhere far enough out, the city lights don’t keep me up.”

You smiled and nodded, you grew up somewhere close enough to the country to know what he meant. “Well, one of these days you’ll have to let us swing by. I’d love to see your land.”

The hulking man looked so fond as he reasoned out an uncertain invitation, “well, Matty keeps the place running while we’re on the road, so I’ll have to ask him how’s it all looking for the whole band to swing by for an afternoon. If not this trip, definitely after the tour.”

“Fine! But I won’t forget you said that.”

He chuckled. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

You turned back to the stage as Jodi wailed on their cover of ‘Crazy on You’. Donna was front and center giving it her all. You were once again mesmerized by their talent. Some people were just unreal, having both beauty and brains, strength and kindness. That old, familiar hollowness inched up your throat and twinged the corners of your eyes. You were surrounded by amazing people and all you could do was hover in their shadows. You were a supporting character, you could never exist at that level.

You were a fool to think you ever could.

SPS was phenomenal and they finished their set to whistles and cheers from both the fans and those of you in the wings. They beamed as they marched off stage, heading back to the dressing rooms for a breather before the main event. You cheered them on, knowing you were doing a bad job of masking the way your thoughts had plummeted. Luckily for you, Jesse was a professional and he said nothing as he ducked away to help with PT’s set up.

You rolled your eyes and punched out an annoyed ‘fine’ in the chat. You didn’t want to think about Dean singing about somebody at that moment. What you wanted was a stiff drink and maybe a foot massage. You thought about pulling up your hotel’s amenities, but were caught off guard by Sam and Kevin bellowing your name like a pair of foghorns.

“TROUBBBBBLLLLLLEEEEEE.”

“TRRRRRRRRRRROUBLLE!”

You turned while still looking down at your phone. “Uh, what’s up?” 

But as you glanced up, you got silly string-ed straight to the face. 

“MOTHER FUCKERS!” That had you spitting out air because the foamy substance had grazed your lips. Yuck! With one eye open you charged the overgrown idiots, forcing them to run behind the closest obstacles, gear cases and Benny, respectively.

Benny muttered over his shoulder to a crouching Kevin, “it’s your funeral, cher.”

“Thanks, Benny,” you huffed out as you dodged around the head of security and almost had a hand on Kevin’s collar. “You little shit!”

Kevin cackled as he ran away, too worried about busting your shit in your concert heels, you watched him go. Sam was smart enough to leave quietly amongst the fray, but you promised yourself some revenge down the line. You even knew who you could enlist for help, the last person they would ever expect…

Tagging:

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@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

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@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

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@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

[starkwlkr]

there’s love if you want it (sv5)

there’s love if you want it don’t sound like no sonnet, my lord — the verve

I wait for you masterlist

DECEMBER 2010

The FIA Gala was starting to bore Sebastian. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful, after all it was him who was being honored. He kept looking down at his watch wanting time to go by faster. Why? In a couple hours, Sofia Barrett was leaving Monaco and he didn’t want her to leave without saying goodbye.

“You’re doing it again.” Christian Horner whispered to Sebastian. He was of course referring to Sebastian’s foot tapping.

“Sorry.” Sebastian apologized. “Listen, I don’t want to see rude . . .”

“I’m sure no one will notice if you leave a few minutes early, Seb.” That was all it took for the German to excuse himself and make his way to the nearest exit.

From his seat, Mark Webber chuckled and sipped on his champagne. “He is so whipped.”

Luckily, Sofia’s hotel was near the gala so Sebastian had the ‘brilliant’ idea of running in his dress shoes all the way to her. If it was any another person, he would no even try, but this was Sofia Barrett and for her, he would run like his life depended on it. When he finally did make it to her hotel, he ran to the elevator, but the door had already closed in his face.

“Fuck! Fuck! No!” Sebastian shouted. He felt like he was running out of time so he started pushing the button for the next elevator. As he kept pushing it, he heard his name being called by the sweetest voice ever.

“Sebastian?” He quickly turned and saw Sofia with her suitcase by her side. “I’m pretty sure the gala is still happening. Why are you here?”

“You were leaving. . .” Was all he managed to say. “I wanted to see you before you left.”

Sofia’s lips turned into a smile. “Are you going to get in trouble for leaving early?”

“Probably, but I think it’s worth it if I got to see you.” Sebastian replied.

“The world champion getting in trouble just so he can see me? You’re something else, Seb.” Sofia laughed.

“Are you going to Iceland?” Sebastian asked. He remembered her mentioning Iceland a few months ago, something about a family member getting married there.

Sofia slowly nodded. “Yeah, but I’m going to London. I’m spending Christmas and New Years with my boyfriend and his family.”

Her words hit him like a truck. Boyfriend. Since when? She never brought up that word ever. He was beginning to think it was some sort of prank set up by Mark to get him to confess his true feelings. It had to be a prank! When did she find a boyfriend?

“Oh. You’re dating an Englishman?” Was all he could say. Out of all the words in the world, he decided to say that.

Sofia laughed. “I promise he’s a good guy. He’s already met my parents and sister. They like him.”

“That’s . . . Good. But what about that MotoGP guy? What’s his name? Casey?”

“Casey is a friend. Always had been.” He noticed a little anger in her voice. Sofia got annoyed whenever someone brought up her friendship with Casey Stoner. The media assumed it was more than a friendship, but her and the Australian were simply friends.

“I’ll see you soon. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, champ. Love you.” Sofia placed a kiss on Sebastian’s cheek as she gave him a hug.

“Yeah, you too.” He cleared his throat. “Have a safe flight. Call when you land?”

“Time zones, Seb.” She reminded him.

“I’ll wait. You know I always wait for you.”

And he did. No matter what, Sebastian Vettel always waited for Sofia Barrett.

@forza-pastry @distancedss

[kaitaiga]

When that random ass burst of creativity appears but you can’t bring yourself to do anything

[stellewriites]

really fucking grinds my gears how my dad knows just how to make me feel fucking guilty for putting up boundaries and saying no