#I haven't shopped at Sports Direct in years

[deweydecimalchickens]

I own a LOT of No Fear brand sportswear for someone who has so much fear.

Today's is a wetsuit, because I think nighttime in December is for jumping in lakes.

[rintarousgirl]

kiss me better, baby - an atsumu miya two-shot

PART TWO - MASTERLIST

a/n: so, i randomly got inspired to write a thing like this, and i recognized that i haven't really written for 'tsumu before, so here i go! i tried doing all lower-case for this just to see how it is, because i feel like people nowadays enjoy a story on tumblr more like that, but on ao3 it needs caps?? idk, you tell me.

synopsis -

you and atsumu had been living together happily after your marriage, but after conflicting work schedules and bottled-up feelings, the two of you break into a heated argument. now, it's up to the two of you to mend it, maybe with a kiss? | tags: lack of communication, angst, making up, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship.

you married atsumu knowing, he was frustrating. you knew there would be up's and downs, and fights, and the regular. that's how marriage worked, and quite honestly, how your husband worked.

you knew by the end of the day, you'd be able to smile at him, embrace him, and give him a soft squeeze and a muffled apology as you dragged him in bed to watch a movie with you after work. everything would be alright, that's how things worked.

the two of you never got too worked up over apologies. you recognized that you did something wrong and made up for it with touch rather than words. that was what worked for you and him, and it saved atsumu the embarrassment of a wounded pride.

your friends had always told you that communication was key, and you knew that was true. you knew stating boundaries and expressing your emotions was right in a relationship and the best direction for a healthy bond between two people but...atsumu and you were different. you both had big prides and egos, and even if you were pissed off at day all of that seemed to melt away by the time night fell.

up until recently that is.

atsumu was obsessed with volleyball, you knew that much. it was his life, his career. everyone in his family had played it at some point, but they'd known when to give it up and pursue a career that lasted or one they were more passionate about. personally, you viewed as some passed down tradition, and you knew osamu broke out of it as soon as possible.

and just as reasonably you knew your own child would probably play volleyball to some extent. but that was exactly it. eventually, everyone got older, and their bodies couldn't keep up anymore, or they lost their passion with the sport that they held when they were young. atsumu wasn't like that. every game you still found that competitive spark in his eye, the same spark you fell in love with all those years ago.

but now you could only sigh, watching from the sidelines, phone dangling from your fingertips and your wedding band burning against your skin. was this the life you wanted to live? demoted to some trophy-spouse? no, it wasn't. you wanted your husband back.

atsumu began to stay later at practices, and left earlier in the morning too. when did come back, he'd drop his bag in the foyer, take a quick shower, and collapse in bed. you knew he was tired, and that he worked hard, but he was asleep before you could even say goodnight.

often times, you kind of had to chase him to bed. it would be around nine when he got back, dinner sizzling on the table from where you'd kindly reheated it for him. he presses a quick kiss to your lips, at least acknowledging your existence, and then run for the bathroom.

it was horrible, almost humiliating, even. by the time you had everything cleaned up, his dinner wrapped in plastic and placed in the fridge for him to pick at the next day, he was half-asleep in bed. you'd give his shoulder a comforting squeeze, brush the blonde hair from his eyes, and whisper a soft goodnight before leaving for the living room to watch your nightly television.

and even when he wasn't at practice, he was always doing something. whether it be an interview, or helping out at osamu's shop, or mentoring or watching other teams practices. sometimes, he'd hole himself up in the garage where you'd set up a homemade gym. this had nothing to mention the fact you had work to, a simple quiet office job where you filed papers, typed in numbers, and picked up calls.

it wasn't much, but it paid good money.

so, in the lucky times when you were both home, contact was limited to breakfast and lunch which even then your mouths were full and there wasn't much for you to talk about. the only thing that came out of his mouth were, "volleyball", "see you later," and an occasional, "love you!" without the "I".

somewhere along the line, you came to the conclusion of, well if i barely see him anyway what's the harm in picking up some extra shift for some more money? it wasn't like the two of you weren't comfortable. honestly, you both could live smoothly off atsumu's salary alone, but you were never the stay-at-home type.

atsumu had spared a small comment at that. late at night, as you crawled into bed next to him, he circled his arms around your waist and muttered, "you worked later today," into the soft flesh of your shoulder. you gave a small hum, feeling something bubble in your throat contracting your words.

you didn't have to work, but it was kind of satisfying nonetheless to have him hold onto you because you cut off an extra hour of time you had together. revenge was petty, you knew that, but you were tired of being on the receiving end of missed calls and empty sheets in bed.

his thumb had rubbed small circles on top of your hipbone, and you could feel his mouth twist into a frown. "you don't have to...did the cut your check or something?"

"no," you said into the quiet, "i just felt like it, that's all."

he sighed and buried his head into your neck. you felt yourself smiling despite it all, and he held you a little bit tighter the next few nights.

though, eventually, everything blew up in both of your faces. that night, when atsumu came home you hadn't bothered to reheat his dinner or make dinner at all actually. as you heard the front door shut and then lock, your stomach rumbled, having skipped it as well.

despite it all, you didn't have an appetite. not when you felt nauseous with your anger. you were tired of only seeing glimpses of your husband. hell, shoyo saw him more than you did in a week, maybe even a month.

you couldn't keep living like this. alone, and secluded, the barest hints of comfort coming from his touch. you knew he loved his job, and you wouldn't tell him not to. you just...wished he loved you as much as he loved the stupid game.

you missed your husband, your atsumu. those boyish grins he would give you and chaste morning kisses before he ran out the door. you missed when he would come home right in time for dinner and the two of you could sit down and talk and laugh about your days.

this time though, you didn't hear the sound of the water but instead his soft voice calling out into the silence of the house. usually you had the television on, or music playing when he came home to fill your head with something other than your own thoughts. now though? it was only the sound of his footsteps and your heavy breathing.

the door creaked open, his shadow spilling into the room. you hugged your knees to your chest, looking to the window beside the bed. atsumu walked in, sweat clinging to his skin and his lip caught between his teeth. "baby?" he asks, stepping further into the room, "are you alright?" he reaches forward, pressing the back of his hand to your head to check your temperature.

you gently swat away his hand, huffing as you refused to look at him. beside you the bed dips, and he places a hand on your knee. "what's wrong with ya? i'm all ears, y'know. i kinda promised...in sickness and in health and all that."

a lump rose in your throat, and you struggle to swallow around it as your eyes dart to the silver wedding band on his finger. it glints under the lamp light. you didn't have the heart to reach over and grab your own ring out of its box on the bedside table. atsumu hadn't noticed, but it's been there for the past three days.

"you're tired," you end up saying, "you should go to bed...I'm gonna go," you rush to get up, but you only make it so far before his hand jumps out and grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

he stands with you, pulling you close, still holding onto your wrist. "c'mon now, tell me what's wrong. you're worrying me, y/n," he admits softly, and you half-heartedly tug your hand out of his grip.

"it's nothing," you hiss, glaring at him, "of course you care now."

his shoulders go stiff, and his expression sours a bit. "what are you insinuating?" he mutters, lip curling, "of course i care for you, are ya out of your mind?"

"maybe i am," you grumble, "i'm sure you wouldn't notice then either since you don't seem to give a damn!"

his hands reach up to tug at his hair, before running through it and resting on the back of his head for a second. "i don't get what you're so worked up about. and i won't get it until you tell me!" he shouts, temper rising and patience thinning. well, you could play two at that game.

"oh, get over yourself!" you yell back, "you spend day and night at the stupid gym and i get to sit here all day and rot and wait for you to get back. and guess what? when you do get back it's like i'm talking to a fucking wall!"

he laughs, a little hysterical. "is that what you're upset about? you're upset that i care about my job?" it's so condesencing, and infurating and you just can't anymore. he was a grade-a asshole, and you were done putting up with it.

atsumu was sweet before, he would hold your hand and sway you around to sweet love songs that came on the radio in the kitchen. he's kiss you and laugh at all your jokes, and enjoy your food, and give you all his time. you missed that atsumu. you didn't like this version of him.

"get out," you whisper, hands curling into fists.

"what?" he stammers, a little bit of that anger fleeting from his eyes.

"i said get out!" you scream, shoving him a little. it wasn't enough to knock him off balance, you weren't strong enough for that, but it should've been enough to get your point across.

"you can't be serious," he says with a little huff, a hint of a confident smirk pulling at his lips.

"deadly," you growl, and point to the door, "now out! i don't want to see you tonight, or tomorrow preferably. actually, don't bother coming back from work either!"

you give him another shove, and that gets him to move an inch. you're fortunate that the door is close enough to the bed that after a bit of effort you can get him past the doorframe. he turns around, licking his lips, all that confident aura from earlier gone.

"so you're gonna kick me out? just like that, huh? over something so stupid--"

"honestly, atsumu, if you think this is stupid than you're more of an idiot than i thought. not in a million years had i thought this was the guy i was going to marry, but here we are now."

he stammers to say something, but you're slamming the door, locking it just as quickly. you turn on your heel, but your knees seem to buckle from beneath you.

crumbling down onto the ground, you press up against the back of the door and watch as your world disintegrates around you. your shoulders begin to shake, your lip trembling and eyes spilling over with tears.

the sobs don't begin until you hear the sound of doors slamming as atsumu no doubt packs a bag, and you can hear the metallic clang of the laundry machine door.

your breaths are shaky and wet, and you're choking on them. you don't know how long he's slamming around for, but eventually you can hear the running shower water, and the hallway light flickers off.

the atsumu you knew didn't give up that easily...the atsumu you knew didn't neglect you. the atsumu you knew would've sat on the other side of that door and pleaded to be let in.

and you can't help but wonder what happened? what did you do wrong? what is he hiding from you? an affair? a demotion? something more than that? you didn't know, you weren't sure you wanted to know.

so, for the night, you sat there. shoulders shaking, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, choking on your own spit and sobs. sooner or later, you fell asleep like that, curled up against the door, shirt soaked with your tears and a depression hanging over you like a shield.

[princesssmars]

she can fight.

an abby anderson x reader

while out on an outing with your girlfriend, some vloggers decide to make you their next target. luckily your girlfriend can handle it.

wc: 792

contains: cursing sorry im a sailor. reader is described to have hair. those stupid vloggers youtubers whatever that go up to people and ask dumb ass questions. said bloggers hitting on you icky. abby being a sweet bodyguard girlfriend. me being obsessed with her.

a/n: i haven't been this obsessed with a white woman since my vi phase of early 2022 nobody look at me.

you had thought prior to this point that you were a moderately lucky person. you had a loving family and friends, a caring and incredibly attractive girlfriend, and if she and most other people on campus had any say, you were pretty fucking hot. so in short, life was pretty good. until today.

abby was the one to ask you to come with her today, telling you how she needed some new gear and clothes for sports and working out. you weren't gonna say no to spending some more time with your girlfriend, especially when she offered to buy you a new purse.

after a bit of shopping in the outdoor mall, you start to feel a bit hungry right as abby says she has to use the bathroom. you tell her that you're just going a minute's walk away to catch you both a quick bite to eat, the blonde reminding you of her favorite order and ruffling your hair before she walks away laughing at your pout.

so you're sitting at a table in the square, already indulging in your meal and sneaking a quick bite of abby's when you feel a quick tap on your shoulder. turning around, you're met with two boys, one further back with a camera that seems to be recording and another who seemed to be the tapping culprit who has his phone up to his mouth.

"hey, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" he asks, pointing the phone in your direction. you'd seen people like this on tiktok before, coming up to people in public and annoying them. normally you wouldn't be for it but you decided to indulge them since you were getting pretty bored waiting for abs.

"no problem, fire away."

at first, the questions are weird but simple. basic ones like "how many stars are on the flag?" and "what's the craziest thing you've done in the past year?". throughout the questions, you noticed your interviewer constantly and not at all subtly checking you out, and you weren't surprised he couldn't detect how you were steadily becoming more pissed off. after a particularly dumb question you put an end to it, telling the boy how you need to get back to your snacking.

right when you turn away to sit back down you feel a hand grip your arm, your face completely bewildered at the audacity of this man to touch you. he seems to notice your unease and lets up slightly before asking, "can we just ask one more question?"

frankly done with his bullshit but now wanting to piss him off and get yourself into trouble, you relent with a sigh through your nose and nod your head.

"can your boyfriend fight?"

it takes everything in you to hold back your laugh but you fail, a surprised giggle falling past your lips. the guy seems to take it as you giggling like he's being charming and it makes you laugh harder. you calm yourself down enough to answer when you feel a familiar presence behind you along with the scent of pine and you can't help but smirk.

"nope, but her girlfriend can."

the man's grip on your arm disappears so quickly you would have thought he had been burned and the scared look on his face is one you definitely won't be forgetting soon. abby's arm wraps around your waist as she tugs you against her body away from the vloggers, who are currently stumbling over themselves and apologizing to her for hitting on you.

"dont apologize to me, morons, apologize to her." she scoffs, already sick and tired of talking to these people who had the audacity to hit on her girl so rudely. the boys quickly do as she says, apologizing for bothering you before taking their leave to probably bother some other poor soul.

you turn in abby's arm, ready to laugh about the encounter when her other large hand cups your cheek and brings your lips to hers in a passionate kiss. its so quick you barely get to kiss her back before she pulls away, smiling down at your dazed face with that stupidly sweet but smug look on her face.

"you feelin' alright there, baby?"

you nod your head slowly which only goes to amuse her more, the girl grasping your hand in hers as she sits down at your previous little table and pulls you into her lap, ignoring your whines about pda as she asks you to feed her some of her fries since she can tell you ate some already.

the rest of the day was spent giggling and spending time with your sweet idiot-repellant girlfriend, so maybe your luck was turning for the better.

.

.

.

if i don't meet an abby clone in college i will literally eat 800 apple seeds

[theobsessiveloser18]

Headcanons of being the daughter of Gina and Ej

*You have an incredibly cheeky and clueless personality (That's why everyone loves you) *You were born to be the center of attention, you're a born star, but you don't get all fuss over it (your parents wouldn't allow it anyway) *You sing, dance and direct like your mother and have a talent for sports like your father *Your "uncles" have also influenced your skills, you write songs and play the piano like nini and ashley, you sing and design like kourtney, and you have the charisma of ricky and big red (only in your case you can also show it on stage) Unfortunately, you don't know how to choreograph like your uncle Carlos, nor have you been able to interpret the male version of something like your uncle Seb (you're not even a farmer). *You are a theater girl but you have "balance" you can be the protagonist, but also a secondary character with a really interesting background, an extra that appears only once on stage but devours with a solo, and sometimes you can even be found behind the scenes in charge of the organization *You love all your uncles, but Ricky is definitely your least favorite uncle, you can't forgive him for making your mom suffer for a while, or for almost spoiling your parents' "perfect summer". You have the perception that every time he visits them it's to spend time with your mom since she's been without a girl for too many years, and she's the most stable thing he's ever had after high school.(This is an alternate universe where Ricky is an on-and-off bachelor, that's how tim federle is done!)

"Go say hi to your Uncle Ricky"

"I won't talk to him all night mom"

"Let's see, what did he do this time?"

"he tried to flirt with you"

"He and I haven't flirted since I realized he loved your dad at the end of Camp Shallow Lake" (if this is an AU where Rina never kissed)

"I know what I saw mom, you should have seen him dad, with the hateful smile of him and the stupid charisma of him that I fucking should have inherited"

"Hey, mouth young lady," your mom scolded, you showed her your eye rolls.

"What makes you think you didn't inherit my charisma?" Your father asked, offended

"Don't worry, dad" you hugged him "I also inherited yours, only his influences me to death"

"I don't care if you like him or want him off planet earth, you're going to talk to Ricky whether you want him or not"

"I don't think it's a good idea to force the girl love, we teach her not to be hypocritical" Gina's look turned violent and she asked with the most affectionate voice anyone could imagine

"oh so get me started" practically you and dad scared the shit out of you, you started walking quickly while saying

"I'm always happy to see my brother Wildcat"

"uncle ricky is the best in the world"

*You are the number 1 fan of your parents' relationship (They are the basic reason why you don't want to have a relationship, they are the most perfect couple in the world, everyone else is a vile imitation, except your uncles' romance) *You and your parents are really close, they spend a lot of time together doing anything. *You anxiously wait for the weekend to arrive, to go on a trip with your parents, sometimes you go alone, other times your uncles and cousins accompany you. *You spend most of your time with your mother, cooking, knitting, shopping, and at work, it's her second favorite place in the world (your mom owns and teaches a dance academy, your dad owns several teams sports and has been director and organizer of several musicals) *You will be a theater teacher when you grow up

[palaeophilist]

there is happiness to find

I felt delirious as I confessed the truth beneath the anxieties, as though my thoughts were getting lost underneath a wave.

The way it felt when I used to try to be cool and do ocean sports. What was it called? duck diving? I didn't like it: angling the front of the board into the wave, ducking under it, getting lost in the tidal energy, even if just for a few seconds. I said, I need time to trace the lines of things. I need time to reflect, to make sense. But when I have this time, I seem to do everything I can think of to avoid myself. Part of it is perhaps the urgency of now. Today, for example, a true urgency of sorting out the trash bag of miscellany that I emptied from the junk dresser before we set it in the alley. The laundry needed done, of course. The car needed vacuumed. And then, when I find myself sat across the blank screen and the blinking, what's it called? is this the cursor? (it is; aka "the text cursor" and "the insertion point), I want to run. I feel so much less poetic that I want to be, so much less full of wonder and curiosity than I used to be.

Now, whether I have ever possessed any sense of poeticism (or rather, whether or not I have felt that in the moment of writing), I cannot say, but now, sitting here, thirty-eight and a half years old (so old), I fear that I am pointless and unoriginal. I have already written of the wind swaying the fronds. I have written of the strangers that decorate innumerous coffee shops, even if I have never written about these specific ones: the white and gray haired couple sitting together with their drinks, the woman with bubblegum pink nails and a Mexican blanket draped around his shoulders, the man, with a white baseball cap and a denim-on-denim fit. The couple sitting at the table next to mine, chatting enthusiastically (well, at least, the man is, judging by his gesticulations, the way his hand weaves around his words like a conductor directing an symphony), the wavy haired mother and her child sitting together doing work together on their separate devices. No, I haven't specifically encountered these people, but there have been others, and what's the point of this description? and then I think, but I liked it. Not necessarily the sentences, but the process. I liked the way it felt to notice.

To notice the chaotic steam rising above the espresso machine. To see the little gap between their two front teeth. To witness the curve of the fluffy dog that just crossed the street. It feels alright to notice, and I know, technically, that's the only point that we can rely on. This particular moment that we occupy. To trust that in this moment, there is enough. To trust that I am noticing even when I am not capturing every single detail. There are too many to capture, even though that has never before stopped me from trying.

The last proper email that I exchanged with Scott, I told him about this project that I had started: everydayremember. It was a Tumblr, of course, and I just wanted a place to elevate, on the daily, the little things that I like to save. He told me that it was an insane project (or not exactly insane, but impossible). How could i capture everything? but it's like, of course it's not everything. It's just whatever we possibly can. He told me that just because he never could, I shouldn't give up. Incidentally, I did give up. At least, I gave up for a while. Maybe I'll find my way back to it again. Remembering little bits of things, because I want to, because I can, and because if I don't, I perish a little from not exercising my right to remember, to save, to hold, to cherish.

We don't do it for acclaim, but because it is how we find our breath. And when I say, we, I mean it. All of the me's that have been before, and the me's that I will become. We the collective "I" need this small act of remembrance, the holy witnessing. It feels proper to take a highlighter to the little bits, the people and places and words that we encounter, and to trace around the edges of them, and to say, there, then, that's how it seemed to be to me. That's how I heard it, that's how I saw it, that's how it was that one time that was.

In a couple hours, my child will be coming home to me. This weekend, we are driving out to Yucca Valley, and we are spending time (hopefully) with our dear friends. I would like to finish the laundry and I hoped that I would pack up a bit, and I will. There is still time. Today I didn't get to add to the story, but in another way, I guess I did. Somehow, all of this is entangled in it. Figuring out how to be thirty-eight when sometimes I long for being twenty-two.

/open up your heart/it's going to be alright/think of where you are/and how you got this far/you will keep growing

[that-gay-jedi]

1. Are you named after anyone? I share my name with a Roman emperor but I didn't name myself after him.

2. When was the last time you cried? Probably around May/June of 2022 (there was fanfic involved). I used to cry a lot more frequently but the physical ability to do so has been drastically reduced.

3. Do you have kids? Nope

4. Do you use sarcasm? Yes, sometimes for my friends' enjoyment and/or as coping humour

5. What's the first thing you notice about people? Overall presence like idk some combo of posture and social cues and vibes and whatnot

6. What's your eye colour? That very specific brown that used to red-eye every picture

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Hmmmm depends on my mood

8. Any special talent? Not really

9. Where were you born? Small fishing village in the frozen arse of Atlantic Canada

10. What are your hobbies? Star Wars shit, poetry, Tarot (yes reading but doing other, weirder shit with it too), used to be cooking but I haven't had a kitchen in a few years now

11. Any pets? One cat, she is large and fluffy and very sweet

12. What sports do you play/have played? I used to fence competitively, swam but not competitively, practiced a couple Eastern martial arts, hiked a bit, ran and did a LOT of both weighted and bodyweight strength training (the last was not really a sport per se- at the time, I was planning on going to paramedic school and needed to be able to carry a person larger than myself for the fitness test). I miss a few of those immensely tbh.

13. How tall are you? 152cm (5 feet if you're American). King of the short kings.

14. Favourite subjects in school?

In high school: English Language Arts, tech ed (I think outside of Canada it's called wood shop?), philosophy when it was FINALLY offered, and the early bits of science classes (you know when you're like learning about how a system works but you haven't had to do the math yet)

In college, I was studying therapeutic massage, and I really enjoyed the medical terminology and anatomy classes where we had to like memorize every muscle, joint, and skeletal landmark and what muscle moves which bones in what direction and where it attaches to the bone and which blood vessels and nerves go to that muscle, and had to know about common injuries and kinesiological disorders and occupational strain and so on.

15. Dream job? I want to be the weirdo in a cottage in the woods whose door people knock on when they need somebody to talk to or want to hear a crazy story etc etc.

No pressure tags: @tessiete @bl00000g @pkann18 @saintsherlocks @elismor @ragingcitrustree @vilify @latenights-pumpkinspice @babygirlvader @notdarthmaul @buthappysoverrated @sinisterexaggerator @sushi2hot @zeawesomebirdie

15 tags 15 mutuals

*tips hat* @athemarina

1. Are you named after anyone?: No but there is this thing on my father's side of my family where give a name starting with the letter A to their child.

2. When was the last time you cried?: About a month ago.

3. Do you have kids?: Noh

4. Do you use sarcasm?: Why would I ever?

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?: The way they talk and I try to notice hand gestures a lot.

6. What’s your eye colour?: Dark brown

7. Scary movies or happy endings?: Either one or both

8. Any special talents?: Eh....I can do this thing with my arms, it's a bit hard to explain but one friend called it a 'bone breaker' and my other friend told me I was temporarily popping it out of it's socket.

9. Where were you born?: Earth. I assure you that I am not an alien.

10. What are your hobbies?: Writing, drawing, reading, day dreaming, plotting ways to rebel against my school.

11. Have you any pets?: Fishes.

12. What sports do you play/have played?: Speed skating, swimming

13. How tall are you?: 5'4'' (yes I am very short)

14. Favourite subject in school?: Art (I am a computer science student)

15. Dream job?: Honestly I am trying to survive through school. My dream job was crushed in 8th grade.

Tagging: @late-to-the-fandom @master-of-the-pigeon-religion @on-noon @caligraphyzev @calloumii @idreamofhamandcheese @rxd-bxttrflxss @isabellebissonrouthier @midnight-and-his-melodiverse@subuthetitan @i-eat-books-and-nutella @timetravellingkitty @avocado-frog @usernamewastaken @aohendo

[yinses]

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !! 

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

“you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind.  really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature. 

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.  

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength."  Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That��s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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[heartofspells]

Regulus’ POV could be interesting! Im not sure exactly what though, maybe him finding out about what happened to Sirius and deciding to call him? Or anything you want!

Oh, I thought a lot about this one. I considered doing the bit you asked for, but someone else on another forum has already requested that, and it'll come eventually, but it'll be longer, more suited for AO3 than here. Then I considered steering it to Regulus' meeting of Remus (which has also been requested), but that'll be from Remus' POV for reasons, so skipped again.

Instead, we have this. It's fun, light-hearted (something we don't see nearly enough in this universe, I'm aware), so I hope you enjoy it.

Another outtake from At the Healing Edge of Broken, set beyond the ending of the main story. It actually takes place after this moment. If you haven't read it, I do suggest it, as this will make far more sense that way (it's not too long, I promise, and it's fun, or so I think).

Also, for anyone who is curious about the suits, this is the one Sirius likes. And this is similar to the one Regulus is pushing. 

"You cannot be serious." Sirius' face splits into a smirk, his mouth opening, but Regulus holds up a hand, stopping him with cutting eyes. "Do not," he warns.

Sirius deflates. "You started it," he grumbles, picking at one of the deep blue buttons on the cuff of his sleeve.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Are you still eight?" he asks in irritation.

"What's wrong with it?" questions Sirius, ignoring the comment as though Regulus hadn't spoken at all. He turns to study himself in the mirror, tugging at the bottom of the horrendously floral-printed jacket, adjusting it a little. The silk slides and crackles faintly. "It's classy, bit elegant. I don't see anything wrong."

"You wouldn't," mutters Regulus, and Sirius casts a scowl in his direction. "It's entirely blue, for one, and a rather electric shade, at that."

"Not all of it," mumbles Sirius dejectedly, still studying himself in the mirror. He traces one of the vining, pale blue flowers with his fingertip. "I think he'd like it. He likes blue."

Regulus huffs, shaking his head in exasperation. "Do you even know the man you're marrying? Have you seen him? He dresses in faded jeans, old band shirts, button-ups that he never manages to successfully button. It's a travesty. He won't care that much."

The smallest of smiles tugs over Sirius' mouth as he looks down at the suit adorning his body, like a secret thing is passing over him, something soft, like a soothing lullaby. Regulus doesn't say anything, doesn't interrupt him, and he'd never admit it to anyone, let alone his brother, but moments like this are cherished to him. They'd been rare, nearly nonexistent while they were growing up. And once they'd reconnected, they'd been just as sparse, mostly a dusting and nothing more. They come more often now, striking over Sirius at the oddest of times, and they almost always involve Remus.

"I like how he dresses," murmurs Sirius.

Regulus hums, and then he shakes himself out of it. "Of course you do," he scoffs, sniffing disdainfully. "If this is what you're aiming for, you might as well find yourself a pink suit. Match the pig he proposed to you in."

"Pigs are not pink!" cries Sirius, flailing his hands. "How many times do I have to say this? Christ. What is it with the bloody pigs? And I am not wearing a pink suit, Reg. That's just flirting with disaster. Don't know of what sort, but some sort, I'm sure." Sirius strokes his fingers over one wide blue lapel once before he sighs, his shoulders slumping as he turns to Regulus. "What did you have in mind?"

Regulus urges Sirius to follow him across the shop, stopping in front of a display sporting a well-tailored suit, dark in color, muted but still containing just enough color. Sirius frowns as he studies it.

"It's sharp but dignified," explains Regulus as Sirius continues to stare the fabric down. "You'll draw eyes, but in a better way. And years from now, you won't feel the need to hide your wedding photos away from sight. It'll also look fantastic on you."

"Red pants?" is the only remark Sirius has, his tone uncertain.

"They're burgundy, actually."

Sirius snorts. "Which one of us is bent again?" he quips, but Regulus ignores him. Sirius' eyes trail over the suit before he sighs, relenting. "Fine. I'll try it."

"Good boy," praises Regulus condescendingly. Sirius aims a kick in his direction that the other Black brother easily sidesteps.

They flag down the proprietor, hovering nearby at all times, but not intruding. He helps Sirius sort out the suit, and as they step behind the large screen to remove the blue monstrosity and swap it out with the new one, Regulus mutters, "I still think you should go with pink. Make it a nice theme. Pink flowers, pink cake, floating pink pigs everywhere."

"For fuck's sake!" shouts Sirius from behind the screen. "Pigs aren't pink!"

[m0e-ru]

i make supporting character ocs for supporting characters !! ft. Namatame's interns i might've mentioned once or twice

I have names for them now !! Seiji ( 星 ) and Takahashi ( 高橋 ) . They're supposed to be part of what I planned for Namatame's SL to kind of explain why he clicks so well with Mim and Adachi. I'll put more info under cut because i uh. overthought about them

They're fresh college graduates working government internship under Namatame (some of his colleagues joke about how he needed people to get stuff from the higher shelves lmao). Then again I don't know how accurate or plausible this is with him being a council secretary out of all things but I do what i want.

Jock/nerd relationship I guess. i dont know actually. They're childhood best friends should I mention that. Seiji's your typical rambunctious easily excitable big heart no brain kind of guy but his emotional iq and actual intelligence aren't all too bad and he can Think if he needs to. Takahashi his fellow leash holder making sure this dumbass doesn't get into too much trouble but hey, boys will be boys and he helped Seiji commit some crime at some point (Shiroku store lady still glares at them when they enter for some thing that happened years ago but it's just funny at this point) and uh, yeah whatever you can perceive from him. He's actually a good guy and really only acts that way to Seiji because that's how it's always been and they're y'know, besties.

I think continuity is fun so these guys are older brothers of some of Nanako's friends. So they have another connection with Souji besides Namatame.

Seiji's siblings with the twins, Yoko and Tsukino. In-game, they're the twins who you see at the shopping district and by Samegawa. The manga made a Nanako-centric chapter (ch 36.5 !!) with them in it which is really cute you should go read it actually.

Not that it's explicitly said if "Takahashi-san" really is Nanako's friend at all, besides that she's familiar enough with the person to know where they live. But I'm taking creative liberties and taking the Takahashi family name. I uh, haven't figured out a given name for him yet which might make these confusing but I'm using this name for au plot purposes okay.

Takahashi has a little brother Nanako's friends with. She directs the deliveryman, Namatame, to "Takahashi-san." She'd she'd refer to the older brother and their mother with "-san" and the younger one with "-kun."

Seiji dotes on his little sisters a lot, even talking about them so much Namatame's aware of them before he meets them. Seiji keeps quiet about Tsukino's issue with Yoko insisting they'd do the stereotypical twin trope when the problem arises. Not that she's too miffed with it, but since she asked, he'll keep quiet. Even glad Nanako, one of their friends, managed to help them instead.

Takahashi just has his mother and brother, while his mother's busy as a doctor leaving him to take care of his little brother. He's good at cooking and often invites Seiji and his sisters over, or they'd invite him over to cook for them when their mother isn't coming home any time soon. It's a better atmosphere that way.

Namatame somewhat feels like their uncle for a couple of interns working for him. He finds their antics and manzai dynamic very endearing and diligently takes responsibility for them which the two apologize back for twofold the effort and sincerity.

Takahashi was the one who suggested they do the internship together despite Seiji gonna, idk work on being a sports coach or something. But he came along with Takahashi because they're besties. A year, at least.

They've come to adore and respect Namatame immensely and see him as an inspiration. He's a kindhearted, charismatic, a true "for the people" politician despite what the two had anticipated. They're glad they have someone like him in the office and hold steadfast on their loyalty to him, even in the middle of the scandal.

Their internship isn't over and they're pretty anxious who they'll work for once Namatame leaves the office, or if they ever decide to keep working.

Namatame talks about these two with Souji and confessing he sees the attendant and Adachi in a similar light. Even admitting he sees himself in Souji if they were to ever have a complete analogy to the trio. They all reunite at some point and get introduced to each other. Embarrassed by what happened and afraid he'll get called out for becoming a lowly deliveryman, these two actually ask if he's been okay. Ever since the scandal of the affair it's been hard to reach Namatame. They still admire him and know the person he truly is aside from what all the tabloids say. This assures Souji at least there are more people who'd fight for the truth and a world without fog obscuring it.

They become friends with Souji and recognize him from their siblings. "Nanako Dojima" talking about how her big brother's the best out of all of theirs while the three of them are actually just. out here sharing drinks (souji has cola).

Even if he's arrested as suspect to the serial murder/kidnapping case, they still believe in him. Especially when they hear he's been hospitalized they just get drowned in worry of their former boss.

Telling Souji it's okay to confide with them and Souji himself funneling limited information Adachi passed on to him about his condition since he's under watch in recovery. Even wishing for his own family's recovery after all that's happened.

They're immediately part of the rally for truth when Inaba's engulfed in fog by March. Even finding Namatame at the shopping district with a bunch of other kids helping them amplify their cause (i will never elaborate on 3/20 will i).

The moment he's released the two come back and help him with his speeches, already prepping his campaign for mayor, even.

then again you'll never actually get this much detail just by sl events so you'd have to run around like a headless chicken regularly checking on npc dialogue throughout the year to get this much LMAO

[shirleykarasuma]

Hello my friends,

Let's talk about "Dream Goods" today. (′ॢᵕ ‵ *ॢ)

I'm sure everyone of you has this one item that you always dream of owning one day.

This does not only belong to collectors, a dream goodie can be technically any item. For me though this was always something a bit more different. °v°

When I see anime merch collectors on the net, they always dream of having this one really really absurdly big goodie. However I belong in the complete opposite direction. ( ﾟ∀ﾟ)

The goodie I always dreamed of owning one day, is pretty small. It is a classical anime merch goodie though .

So let's have a look at it. °^°

╔══════❀ Disclamer ❀══════╗

Please note that I absolutely don't want to sport goods like these. I just want to show you what cool stuff is available on the DCMK merchandise market. (´•᎑•`)

╚══════❀・°•°•°•・❀══════╝

This is my dream goodie and so far most expensive goodie in my collection. ⇩

This box contains a special rare set of chijimasetai (small corps) JP ちぢませ隊.

Chijimasetai are basically little shrunken version different DC characters. I do have some of the original chijimasetai figures, but not all of them.

This set is called the "Detective Conan vol. 4869". The only way to get it was buying it from the official Shogakugan shop.

I don't know how many of those sets have ever been made, but so far I haven't seen many japanese Conan collectors post about this one online.

Characters in this set featured:

Conan from Anime "Diplomat murder case" episode 48 (JP counting)

Heiji Hattori school uniform version

Bourbon from Anime "The Jet-Black Mystery Train" episode 701-704 (JP counting).

There original prize was about 85,000¥ JP ~ 850$ US ~ 800€ and one single figure from this set sells for around 30,000¥ JP ~ 300$ US ~ 250€.

I searched for years and one day I was lucky enough to get the full set for a very good deal for around 15,000¥ JP ~ 150$ US ~ 100€. Yes, that means the goodie was pre-owned, but pre-owned goods from Japan are always in super condition with little to no damage. °^°👍

So just because an item you always want to have is super expensive, doesn't mean you have to give up your dream. Even if this means you have to wait years before you can finally get it.

You also shouldn't be ashamed of yourself if you can only afford some goods in pre-owned condition. I personally prefer pre-owned items of all kinds, because it gives once beloved and still good working old stuff a second life.╹ꇴ╹

No matter what your dream goodie is, never give up. One day it'll be waiting out there for you to get it. (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)♡

[gierosajie]

Just felt like wanting to share something.

I don't write as much as I used to, and I'm not planning on writing more on this, but here's a short thing I did a few months ago. Also note that I haven't written for Ninjago in years.

It's more of just Misako's thoughts after the events in the bottom right drawing in the first image and the second image.

Words: 740

Misako tried not to let that man's words about them make her do something regrettable, lest she bring more trouble in this already troublesome situation. Lloyd still clung tightly, burying his head onto her shoulder. She could feel the slight tremors.

Mother and son have just stepped outside of the shop owned by an old man who had some...intense views he felt justified to just scream at an innocent eight-year-old. So what if he was the son of Lord Garmadon? No child should be treated that way.

But still, Misako has something she needs from that shop she couldn't get anywhere else.

She sighed as she carried Lloyd to a nearby bench under the shade and gently ruffled his hair with her free hand. She'll have to deal with that old man later. For now, she needs to focus on her son.

Lloyd simply half-heartedly swiped at the offending appendage as they continued to go across the street. "I really hate it when that happens," he murmured into her shirt. Softer, he added, "I'm sorry." It was quiet enough that Misako almost didn't catch it if it weren't for him saying it close to her ear.

"You didn't do anything wrong, son." Misako carefully sat him down on the bench, swinging down their bags from her shoulder right after. "Forget about what he said. What does he know about our family," she scowled, but quickly stopped, smoothing her face out in favor of a more neutral expression. Lloyd remained quiet.

They've had a fair share of people like the one they have just encountered over the years, although not quite as intense. Misako felt like she had a much easier time compared to her son, despite also sharing the Garmadon family name. Her prior accomplishments and reputation as a researcher provided a sort of cushion. With Lloyd being a direct blood descendant, however…

She didn't let herself dwell much on that, instead opting to make Lloyd more at-ease.

Eventually, it lead up to her relinquishing half a bag of sweets to Lloyd, before marching back to the shop to get what she needed (and maybe even tear a new one at the owner, but Lloyd didn't need to know that. Plus, the bench is very conveniently out of earshot of the establishment).

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

During the time she had left him, Lloyd somehow acquired two new acquaintances around his age, give or take a year or two. One had red hair and glasses while the other sported a mop of black hair, both wearing what she noted to be the standard uniform from Darkley's. Misako briefly wondered what those two were doing in a place like this.

The three of them were sitting side by side on the bench. Lloyd had one of his comic books held out and looked to be in a very passionate debate with the glasses-wearing kid, the other occasionally throwing in his own input on the subject. It was kind of endearing, actually.

Looking at the scene, a small sliver of uncertainty made itself known. Had she really made the right choice, not leaving him behind somewhere with people his age and out of harm's way? Misako has seen the look Lloyd had whenever they came across children playing in the street during their travels.

It isn't that Lloyd hadn't had the chance to interact or play with other kids, but constantly moving around the continent combined with his heritage has made it quite difficult to form any lasting friendships.

Not to mention how many times they have ended up in dangerous situations in her search for ways to avoid the prophesy further tearing their family apart. How many injuries and scars were collected.

There are times like now, looking at those boys, where she regrets ever bringing Lloyd with her. She could have left him at Darkley's like she originally planned, where he'd be safer than going into collapsing structures and crumbling ruins with her. She could have left him with Wu, despite her fears of him discovering Lloyd as the one who will carry the fate of the world on his little shoulders.

She could have done anything else, but dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. Plus, she feels like her son wouldn't appreciate it if she just suddenly left him after all this time.

Misako wants this journey to be over soon.

If only destiny had ever been that kind to her family.

I got a bit more invested in this AU than I had originally anticipated ahaha...

Here, have some more doodles-