#yeah man you sure can purchase products from my store

[shopwitchvamp]

Everyday I get emails, and everyday they get dumber

[novelant]

Everything and the Kitchen Sink pt1

Pairing: Phillip Graves x Fem! Reader

Summary: You meet Phillip at your local homeware store while figuring out how to fix your sink

Genre: Fluff

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: None

Reminder: This is purely fiction and will have no correlation to in game character or backstory

Masterist Here !!!

You had taken it upon yourself to repair the sink so you decided to visit your local homeware store to purchase the necessary tools. However, you were faced with the challenge of not having any knowledge about appliance tools. "What to do?" As you muttered to yourself in frustration, you noticed a man standing a few feet away. When he noticed your intense gaze, he turned around and greeted you. “Can I do something for you?�� Your intense gaze focused on the materials in front of you. Biting your lip as you scan over every pipe and fitting to find the one you quickly scribbled down on the first piece of paper you saw before rushing out of your house. Noticing a man down the same aisle as you, you look over at him debating if you should ask him for help. He seemed to notice you before you did and his voice seemed to startle you. "Oh ... Umm yeah. My kitchen sink sprung a leak and I need to find the right things to fix it and I seem to be as useless as a white crayon." The man could not help but chuckle at your amusing analogy. 

“You know, as much as I’d love to laugh at your comparison, I understand that it must be frustrating to be confused in an unfamiliar environment.” He gestured to the large array of products in front of you. “You definitely chose the most confusing part of the store to get lost in. I’m Phillip Graves, and I’d love to help you pick out the correct pieces for your leaky sink.” "Go ahead, laugh. I'm not wrong. I'm so confused here." I giggle. You introduce yourself and smile up at him. You hand him over the scrap piece of paper with the scribbles of what you need on it. "Seems I need a few things. Sink spraying water from a few places. Say I need a tailpiece, a swivel P- Trap, a housing and a drain elbow. And none of that makes sense let alone what it looks like." “Oh boy! Your sink has definitely sprung some issues.” The man eyed the paper closely, he was impressed by the detailed information you had provided about the problem. “What a surprise to see that a woman as gorgeous as you is taking on plumbing! Your paper indicates that you are pretty knowledgeable with your parts and their functions. I’d gladly help you find the pieces and answer any questions you have as we search.”

"Oh no don't get that idea, I took photos and compared them to a deconstructed photo of a sink online to make sure I was getting the right thing. Not that knowledgeable, I don't know how to fix the damned thing once I go back home." You follow Phillip down a couple aisles to make it to the plumbing section to find the correct items to fix your sink. "Ah, I see. You're quite the crafty planner, aren't you? You certainly came prepared for fixing your little plumbing issue and that shows how smart and resourceful you are." Phillip complimented you with a sweet smile. He continued guiding you to the aisle that held the parts on your list. "This one looks like the one you need for your tailpiece." He pointed to a black and chrome metal joint. "Oh thank you. I had to come prepared though. I can't really afford to hire a plumber right now." I smile weakly back at him. He picks out the tailpiece and you grab the drain elbow a couple of rows over from him. Standing back you scan the shelves to see if you can find the last two pieces left on your list. Phillip kept nodding as he understood your current financial situation; he had gone through something similar before. “Ah! Here’s the P-Trap piece, and lastly, we have the housing.” He picked out the last two pieces you needed from the shelves and collected them both. 

“I think that’s all you need. Let me know if I can do anything more to help.” "Thank you Phillip I really appreciate your help." You thank him profusely. "Oh gosh. I've just realised I've taken you away from what you're doing here. Can I try and help you gather what you need as a thank you?" A sweet smile formed on his face at your offer.  "That would be really sweet of you; let me think, I'll need a couple of wooden boards, a circular saw for a project, and some light-weight fabric." He scratched his head as he tried to remember what else he needed. "May I ask what for? Is it for home?" You're already heading in the direction of the fabric aisle knowing easily where that is. Your curiosity made him chuckle softly, he would gladly tell you what the fabric was for. "Actually, I'm creating a play castle for my young son. He's been asking for one for a while, so I figured it'd be more special if I built it myself."

Your features soften as he mentions it's for his son. "Oh Phillip, that's so cute and thoughtful of you. We're going to find the perfect fabric for this castle." Trailing over all the fabrics you stop at a dark blue one with gold stars on it. You haul the long roll of fabric out to show Phillip. "I'm not sure but this is pretty perfect to me." I say "obviously you can say no though."  Phillip's eyes shone at the sight of the fabric. "Oh wow, this fabric is incredible. Its vibrant tones and vibrant colours really capture what I want to portray for this project. It matches with the overall aesthetic of the play castle." "Thank you for picking it out. I'm sure that my boy will adore it. He loves the stars and these are quite exquisite!" "I'm glad I could help you Phillip. It's the least I could've done after you helped me in my predicament." You could tell that he loves his son a lot.

"I don't mean to come across strong but if you need pillows or blankets made for  the inside of this little fort then... I mean I sew." Phillip could not resist but to raise an eyebrow at your offer. "Oh? You sew too?" he asked with a smirk, he could not believe how many skills and talents you have. "Well, I suppose I would need some pillows and a couple of blankets to make the play castle feel cosy for my dear boy. Could you be able to craft those?" "Of course and saves you money on a professional seamstress as well... Well all of the money, you don't have to pay me of course." I measure out the fabric to a rough amount for the blankets and pillows. Cutting it and placing it in the basket with the plumbing materials for the sink. "That is very sweet of you, but I could never accept something like that without at least giving you a little something in return." To show you that he was willing to pay, he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and held it out for you. "At least take this. You can get yourself a nice drink or something for being such a great help." "Please I insist it's okay. I mean I won't take too long to complete anyway so it won't take much time at all." I push his hand back to refuse the twenty dollar bill. 

"All I ask, if it's not too much, is your number so I can message you when they're complete." A soft blush formed on Phillip’s cheeks as he tried to conceal the growing smile that was growing in his heart. Your request warmed his heart and made him truly believe that this encounter was not an accident, as if fate itself was bringing the two of you closer. “You’ve done so much for me already that I’ll gladly accept. Please take my number.” You take out your phone and hand it to him to put in his number. Instantly messaging him that it's you. "I appreciate all your help Phillip but I have a leaky sink to go and try to fix. I'll message or call you when the cushions and blankets are finished." You smile before turning on your heel and heading to the cashier to pay. Before you took your leave, Phillip offered one last smile of affection and said, "Sounds like a plan. I hope you have great luck fixing your sink."

As you walked away, he could not help but smile in satisfaction. His son was going to be extremely delighted with this gift, but the prospect of having another interaction with you brought him just as much joy. You pay for the items then drive back to your flat to try and fix the sink. You put on a step by step YouTube video to explain how to fix it. As you're doing so you unscrew something that wasn't meant to be and water sprays in your face. Trying to quickly screw it back in. You grab a towel and start wiping at your face and hair. You debate calling Phillip as he mentioned he was handy at DIY. Your fingers hover over the dial buttons before hitting call and putting it on speaker phone so you can look at instructions online while on call. You hear a few rings before Phillip finally picks up the call. The sound of his voice instantly calms you down. “Hello…is everything alright?” His worry quickly spread through his tones. It was apparent that he was concerned for your wellbeing when he heard the water spraying behind your words. "Hi Phillip, sorry to call you like this but I am definitely as useless as a white crayon when it comes to fixing this sink. I've just drenched myself." Phillip could not conceal his amusement at your remarks. At least you had retained your sense of humour. He chuckled softly for a few seconds at the thought of you being drenched with water. “Aw, it’s perfectly okay. I’d be lying if I said I don’t find this a bit funny. Do you need my help? Or should I let you figure it out yourself?”  "Some help would be nice but I'm probably taking time away from you being with your little boy and I couldn't do that. I mean you're more than welcome to bring him along. I'm sure he'll have fun watching his daddy fixing a sink." I laugh. Your offer to invite his son along to join the repairs made him laugh even harder. “I think you’ve forgotten how little he is. My son is only a year old, so he wouldn’t be very helpful except for maybe bringing me some parts.” The thought of his little one trying to carry plumbing tools filled him with amusement. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I can try and keep the little man entertained while you figure out where I've gone terribly wrong trying to fix this sink. Let me text over my address now so you can come over whenever." Your request was too much for him to refuse. The thought of spending yet more time with a beautiful woman like you was too difficult to resist. 

Upon receiving your address, he quickly sent a response back that acknowledged your invitation. “I’ll swing by in a few minutes, just hold tight, and I promise to help you sort out this disaster of a sink.” "Thank you so much... Again. You're a lifesaver, see you both shortly." You tease about seeing his son. With that you hang up the phone and get changed into the clothes that are not soaked through. Deciding to leave your hair wet, not caring about it for the time being. Your teasing made him chuckle softly at the thought of having his little boy at your house with you in such compromising situations. The image was humorous to him, and even in his thoughts, he imagined you both having fun with his son. At the thought of the encounter, he quickly finished his tasks and raced to your home, eager to help and see your face again. 

Time passed until you heard a knock at your door. Opening it you see Phillip. His  son in one arm and the other carrying a tool box. Stepping aside you let them in. "Come in. It's like a bomb site here so watch your step. You can put your son down in the living room. I can get him occupied with some cartoons while we work if that's okay with you of course." The thought of you entertaining his little boy while he worked brought a soft smile to his face, his son would surely enjoy the cartoons you pick out for him. Phillip carefully put his son down in the living room, making sure to place him on a soft couch or chair. He then turned back around to smile at you. “Everything is fine; thank you for accommodating him. I can get started on it right away if you show me what you were trying to fix?” You grab your iPad and put on some cartoons. Hearing his squeals and babbles makes your heart swell. "Yes, so I was trying to fix the tailpipe and I must've loosened something instead of tightening it and yeah now we're here." Phillip chuckles as his son’s giggles echo throughout the living room. The sight of his little boy so delighted by being at your home made his heart melt. He listened to the tale of the tailpipe loosening while shaking his head in amusement. It sounded like you had tried your best with the sink.  “I see. Luckily, the tailpipe should be easy to tighten back again. It’s just a simple issue. Do you mind if I work on it myself?” "Yes of course go ahead I'm just going to be just behind you watching though so I can see where I went wrong." Phillip looked over to make sure that his son was doing fine with the cartoons behind him. The thought of his son enjoying himself while in your presence caused him an unexpected amount of comfort. 

With his son in good hands, he set his toolbox down and got to work. Phillip carefully worked on tightening the tailpipe as you watched over him. The job itself was rather simple, and he could not but admire your willingness to learn and watch him work. Phillip quickly made work on fixing the rest of your sink. You take the liberty of watching how to fix a sink and making sure his son was okay all at the same time. You hear his son getting slightly restless and you head into the living room to comfort him. You pick him up and hold him on your hip and start to bounce him while making your way back over to Philip. The bouncing of your hips did not go unnoticed by Phillip, for it was quite a sight to watch. While he concentrated on his task, the gentle rocking motions you made with your body made his blood rush a bit. He could smell your perfume as his nose twitched from the faint scent of your perfume. It was a charming scent that made him want to breathe even more deeply. "Hey, is everything going well there?" You ask, still comforting his son on your hip while he continues to watch the cartoons. “It’s going quite well.” Phillip responded to you without even looking up. The sight of you so lovingly carrying his son like that brought a smile to his face. He had never experienced this before in his life, so seeing this sight of you cuddling his son made him feel very comfortable.  “I’ll be done in a few minutes, just need to tighten a couple more screws.” "Oh that's brilliant. Thank you so much again Phillip I have no idea what I would've done without your help.' 

Phillip could not contain his amusement at your compliments. For what seemed like a simple repair, it seemed like a much bigger task to you. It was adorable to see how grateful you were for such a small task. The tightening of the screws was the final step in the repair, and after ensuring that the connections were secure, he turned to you and smiled. “We’re all done with the repairs here, so your sink should be in proper working order.” Phillip’s warm, inviting eyes filled with amusement and compassion. He still felt a sense of amazement seeing you hold his little boy in the same position his ex-wife once held him in long ago. He felt comfort in your presence; the scent of your perfume and your gentle aura was making his heart throb lightly. You thank him a thousand times more with a bright smile on your face. You could tell he was in awe of you holding his son but you didn't want to say anything to ruin his moment.  The sight of you and his son seemed too perfect to him. From the way you carried his son on your hip to how you were so grateful for such a small task, everything about you was charming to him. The urge to pull you into an embrace was growing more intense with each second. He was starting to feel more attached to you after this small task was completed. With a gentle and caring tone, he looked over to ask you a question. “Could I ask you something?” "Hmm oh yeah of course." You respond to him. Philip's warm eyes met yours, and for a few seconds, he seemed to struggle with finding the right words to ask his question. It was clear that your beauty had him at a loss for words when he asked. "What would it take for you to let me take you out to dinner tonight?” "Dinner!" You sound shocked. You didn't mean to come across as shocked as you did. "Dinner would be amazing Phillip" The idea of you accepting to go to dinner with him made his heart leap with joy, as you seemed quite surprised by his sudden question. Your shocked exclamation only added to the charm of the moment, and he couldn't but smile softly at the joy he felt at your acceptance. "Wonderful, I'll pick you up in three hours. Does that sound fine to you?" "Three hours would be perfect." You smile at him again. You look down at the little man in your arms and give him a smile too, pinching his cheeks and booping his nose. Walking over to Phillip you hand his son back to him. Sad to let him go. 

Philip was not used to seeing such warmth and compassion towards his son. With every second, the boy became more at ease with you, and Phillip was enjoying the sight of his son interacting positively with you. When you handed him his son back in his arms, he looked down at you and then his son with a slight blush. "He seems to like you." Philip noted his son's affection for you. "I think he does." You blush slightly. "I think I'll be seeing you in three hours then Phillip." "Until three hours then." Phillip smiled as he waved goodbye. He was still feeling all warmed up from your acceptance. The thought of going on a date with you had suddenly made him curious about your personality further. This night was going to be a pleasant one for sure. The only issue was that the three hours seemed like an eternity to him now.

Masterlist Here !!!

[spicykaraage]

Jusaburou Mouri Tenigo Episodes - Story Translation

[Improvement Level 1 - Episode 1]

Mouri: (Alrighty! Now for today’s stamp rally.)

Mouri: (I ran outta time for the last one, but I got plenty of time today!)

Mouri: (So, I’m startin’ from the sports shop… Now where should I go?)

Mouri: Oh, that’s…

—

Kurobane: Hey, I could use a racket grip like this.

Ishida: I like that one the best. It’s durable even with my Hadoukyuu.

Kurobane: Gotcha. I always wondered how your grip stayed on with the Hadoukyuu, so that answers my question.

—

Mouri: (So the middle schoolers are here to shop too. Ishida’s Hadoukyuu’s awesome, I’ll admit.)

Mouri: (He lost to Duke, but that power of his is still pretty scary.)

Mouri: (…Hm? Who’s that over there…)

—

Ryoga: Mm, ah, over here…

Ryoga: …

—

Mouri: (Man, he looked so serious just now… What’s he lookin’ at?)

Mouri: (…Well, I’ll leave him to it. Got no clue what’s goin’ on with him, though.)

Mouri: (I figured I’d see a lot of familiar faces here at the sports shop.)

Mouri: (Ah, and over here!)

Mouri: So you’re here too, Tokugawa-san.

Tokugawa: …Mouri. Are you shopping too?

Mouri: Nope, I’m doing a stamp rally.

Tokugawa: Oh… You’re trying to receive the prize?

Mouri: Oh, that! I didn’t even check on that at all.

Mouri: I like doing it just to collect the stamps.

Tokugawa: …I see.

Mouri: Well anyhow, I’ll probably check in with you later.

[Improvement Level 1 - Episode 2]

Mouri: …Mm, onto the next one. Now where is it…?

Mouri: Ah, that’s…

—

Kikumaru: That looks so cool!

Momoshiro: It looks great on you!

Shishido: Lookin’ handsome.

Chitose: Haha, well, okay.

Mouri: Oh, that looks fun.

Kikumaru: Oh, Mouri-senpai!

Mouri: You all shoppin’ together? How nice.

Momoshiro: Nah, we just ran into each other!

Shishido: I was just looking for a pair of jeans…

Chitose: And I was just wandering around and ran into them.

Mouri: Haha, and now I’ve ran into you… Ain’t that right?

Momoshiro: The more the merrier! You wanna join us?

Mouri: I can join in, too? Thank you!

—

Mouri: Wow! This is nice.

Chitose: Lookin’ good!

Momoshiro: The longer length looks really good on you since you’re so tall!

Mouri: Oh, yeah? You should see me with Tsuki-san, he puts my height to shame.

Mouri: You and I have almost the same figure, Chitose, so wouldn’t it look good on you too? You should try it on.

Chitose: I do like dark, loose-fitting clothes like that. Looks like you and I have the same taste, Mouri-san.

Mouri: Haha, guess so.

Shishido: Hm? You dropped something.

Mouri: Ah, thanks… Oh shoot, I forgot about that!

Momoshiro: About what…?

Mouri: I came here to do a stamp rally.

Kikumaru: Wow, a stamp rally!

Momoshiro: Oh, well there’s a store for it over on that side!

Mouri: Thank you! Appreciate it!

[Improvement Level 1 - Episode 3]

Mouri: Last one is at the home appliance store~. Okay, I’m gonna do everythin’ I can to find it!

—

Mouri: (Mm, that’s the phone store, that’s the electronics store…)

Mouri: (And that’s… the kitchen appliance store. It’s gotta be here somewhere, right?)

Mouri: Mm?

—

Gakuto: Ah, this blender. We sell a lot of these over at my store. I’m pretty sure it’s number one in the category.

Gakuto: The blades are super sharp and have good mixing power. You can make a really nice smoothie in about 30 seconds with this one.

Inui: Oh, so the product’s as good as the data states…

Gakuto: …Uh, maybe I shouldn’t be giving you this information, actually.

Inui: You have been very helpful. I don’t think I’m set on purchasing a new one, however…

Gakuto: I still feel like my life is in danger…

Mouri: Heyy, Inui, Mukahi!

Inui: …Ah, Mouri-senpai.

Gakuto: Hey there. You here to look for something too?

Mouri: Yeah! You guys seen the store for the stamp rally?

Inui: Probability I’ve seen it: 0%.

Gakuto: That’s not something you need to calculate, is it?

Inui: I wouldn’t say it isn’t.

Mouri: Okay… Well, sorry for botherin’ you!

Mouri: But if you end up makin’ somethin’ yummy, please let me know~!

Inui: Yes, of course. Fufufu…

—

Mouri: Mmm, not over here either…

Mouri: Ah?

—

Kirihara: Oh, that one looks cool!

Ryoma: I have that one.

Kirihara: Seriously!? We should battle sometime, then!

Mouri: Yo, Kirihara and Echizen! You guys like video games?

Kirihara: Oh, Mouri-senpai!

Ryoma: Hey.

Kirihara: Do you like video games too, Mouri-senpai?

Mouri: I’m not really into that kinda stuff, I like this game a whole lot more.

Kirihara: That’s…

Ryoma: A stamp rally?

Mouri: Yep! Hey, have you seen the store for this one around?

Kirihara: Yeah, I have!

Mouri: Where!?

Kirihara: Over here!

—

Mouri: Oh man, thank you! It’s finally complete!

Kirihara: So, whatcha gonna get?

Mouri: Huh? Oh, yeah, I don’t even know.

Kirihara: Huh, so you weren’t doing it for the prize!?

Mouri: Nah. I like doin’ it just to go around collectin’ the stamps. So yeah, I don’t really care for the prizes.

Ryoma: Wow, wasn’t expecting that.

[Improvement Level 2 - Episode 1]

Mouri: Ooh, they’re sellin’ all kinds of seeds.

Mouri: (I wonder which vegetables I should grow once I get back from the camp… There’s so many I haven’t tried growin’ yet.)

Mouri: Wow… Kyoto vegetables… they have all kinds. Kujo green onion, Manganji peppers… Ohh, they even have Kamo eggplant!

Mouri: I bet if I grew some of these and made veggie tendon with ‘em, it’d be amazin’.

Krauser: …Mouri-san?

Mouri: Hm? Oh, Krauser! Whatcha doin’ over here?

Krauser: I came to look at the flower seeds. Do you grow flowers too, Mouri-san?

Mouri: Nope, I grow these. Vegetables galore!

Krauser: Vegetables… I see.

Mouri: I like to grow vegetables back at my place. Obviously I can’t grow ‘em here at the camp, but I just wanted to check ‘em out.

Krauser: Is that so… And why can’t you grow vegetables here?

Mouri: Well, they’re different from flowers, you need room for days if you wanna grow ‘em.

Mouri: Ehh, I guess I could grow ‘em in planters, but I don’t wanna do it that way.

Krauser: “Room for days”?

Mouri: Errr, it just means you need a lotta space.

Krauser: Oh, I see.

Krauser: Huh… You can grow vegetables, if you want?

Mouri: Huh?

Krauser: Me, Yukimura-san and Matsudaira-san take care of the flower beds at the camp.

Krauser: There’s still some empty space left that you could grow your vegetables in.

Mouri: For real!?

Krauser: Yes. I will let Yukimura-san and Matsudaira-san know.

Mouri: Thank you! Alright then, I’ll take your word for it!

Mouri: Okay, now which vegetables should I choose!? This has got me so excited now!

[Improvement Level 2 - Episode 2]

Mouri: Nice, nice, the soil’s lookin’ good. All this hard work’s gonna pay off!

Mouri: Now I finally get to sow the seeds today~

Krauser: Mouri-san!

Mouri: Hm? Oh, Krauser! What’s up?

Krauser: I wanted to see how the flower beds are doing… But have you sown your seeds yet?

Mouri: Nope, I actually was just about to. You wanna help me do it?

Krauser: I have never grown vegetables, but I would like to give it a try!

Mouri: Alright, then let’s get to it!

Krauser: Right. So what kinds of seeds did you buy?

Mouri: Radish and mizuna. Since we’re here at this camp, I made sure to choose ones that took the least amount of time to grow.

Krauser: Mizuna… We don’t have that back in my country.

Mouri: Oh, okay. Then you can look forward to when they’re grown.

Krauser: Right.

Mouri: Well, y’know what Krauser, how ‘bout you sow ‘em?

Mouri: I’ve already made the furrows, so can you plant ‘em one to two centimeters apart please?

Krauser: Sure.

—

Mouri: Phew, all done!

Krauser: Great job.

Mouri: Now all that’s left is to tend to ‘em till they’re grown safe and sound.

Krauser: Is tending to them the same as tending to flowers?

Mouri: Mm, kinda, I guess? You just gotta make sure you thin ‘em once they sprout… But that’s about it.

Mouri: Waterin’ is different with each vegetable, I dunno how different it is from flowers though.

Krauser: I see.

Krauser: What do you do with the vegetables you grow?

Mouri: Why, I harvest and eat them!!

Mouri: You can eat either of ‘em as tempura, but you should try ‘em in veggie tendon. I love me some veggie tendon.

Krauser: Veggie tendon?

Mouri: Huh, do you not know what that is!? That’s no good!

Mouri: Alright, I’m gonna feed you since you let me use part of the flower bed!!

[Improvement Level 2 - Episode 3]

Mouri: I think tendon tastes best when you make it with the vegetables you grew yourself…

Mouri: But since they’re obviously not grown yet, I have to use store-bought ones today, sorry ‘bout that.

Krauser: No, I look forward to it!

Mouri: Alright, let’s get started—

Mouri: Oop, looks like we got a visitor.

Tachibana: Hm? Oh, Mouri-san and Krauser. Nice work today.

Mouri: Same to you, Tachibana. You here to cook?

Tachibana: Yes. I was thinking of making something different to try and change things up…

Tachibana: Do you cook too, Mouri-san?

Mouri: Yup! I’m gonna whip him up some veggie tendon.

Tachibana: Veggie tendon! How nice.

Mouri: You wanna help me out with it?

Tachibana: Of course.

Krauser: I will do what I can to help as well.

Mouri: Thank you! ‘Kay, let’s get cookin’.

Mouri: Today’s veggie tendon’s gonna have sweet potato, pumpkin, shiso and eggplant!

Tachibana: That sounds delicious.

Mouri: Right!? Tachibana, I’ll have you cut ‘em, Krauser, you can dip ‘em in the batter, and I’ll handle the fryin’.

Tachibana: Got it. I’ll be sure to cut them into the right size for tempura.

Mouri: Alright, you got this. Let’s start makin’ the batter, Krauser.

Krauser: Right. Please.

—

Mouri: All done!!

Krauser: It smells really good!

Tachibana: It looks fantastic.

Mouri: Alright, let’s eat. This is gonna be good!

Tachibana: …Mm, it is! It’s nice and crispy.

Mouri: You cut ‘em nice and neat, Tachibana, so they cooked evenly and came out real good.

Mouri: So how do you like your first veggie tendon, Krauser?

Krauser: It is very, very delicious! The tempura and sauce are incredible!

Krauser: We need to make this with the vegetables we planted!

Mouri: I know~! It tastes completely different when you use the vegetables you grew.

Krauser: Wow, it’ll be the best! I’m so excited!

Mouri: (And I’d also like to treat Tsuki-san and the others who’ve been takin’ care of me.)

Mouri: I’ll grow ‘em with care, and make delicious veggie tendon for everyone!

[Improvement Level 3 - Episode 1]

Fuji: …Ah.

Jackal: Ah.

Fuji: Fufu… You wanted to check out the latest edition too?

Jackal: I’m not too into books, but I like to read travel magazines. I always keep up with this one.

Fuji: Oh! I like looking at the photos of the places. I keep up with this one too.

Jackal: Wow, would you look at that! How about we borrow it and read it together then?

Fuji: Sounds great, let’s do it.

—

Mouri: Ah, found ‘em. Fuji, Kuwahara!

Fuji: Mouri-san? What’s up?

Mouri: I know you guys just borrowed it, but I was wantin’ to check out that new edition too!

Mouri: When I came to the library, you guys already checked it out. So I went lookin’ for you.

Mouri: So, how ‘bout all of us read it together?

Fuji: Yeah, of course.

Jackal: Oh, so you like travel magazines too, Mouri-senpai?

Mouri: Yup. Books aren’t really for me, but I like to check out travel magazines.

Fuji: Fufu, it’s the same for Kuwahara-kun.

Jackal: Didn’t expect us to have something in common.

Mouri: Haha, true. It makes me happy, though.

Mouri: So, what’re they showin’ this time?

Fuji: Gamla Stan in Sweden.

Mouri: Oh, how cool! Lookin’ just like those Scandinavian towns you’d imagine. All retro and stylish.

Fuji: Check out this photo. The green of the trees really makes the bright orange buildings stand out, doesn’t it?

Mouri: Yeah! It looks so nice with that cobblestone pavement and beautiful sky… just like a paintin’.

Jackal: Oh, check out what they’re showing over here. It’s part of their personal travel series, but they’re showing off Salar de Uyuni.

Mouri: Whoa~! Last time it was Pompeii, they’ve really upped the ante since then, haven’t they!?

Jackal: I think a trip to Pompeii would be a lot harder to set up, but it looks like they went through a lot of trouble for this too.

Mouri: Wow, I’m really curious about it! Let’s check it out later.

Jackal: Of course!

[Improvement Level 3 - Episode 2]

Ryoga: What’re you guys looking at that’s got you so hooked?

Mouri: Oh, we’re reading the latest edition of this travel magazine.

Ryoga: Hm, a travel magazine…

Ryoga: Those magazines only show you the pretty parts and what they want you to see.

Mouri: Well, yeah, but that’s what travel magazines are all about.

Mouri: Oh, that’s right. You’ve been to a couple other countries before, haven’t you? Where have you been?

Ryoga: Well… The place I’ve been to the most is the US, I guess?

Ryoga: The US is way too big, and doesn’t really have that much of a history compared to other countries.

Ryoga: But they have all kinds of races there. It’s normal over there, so my mug wasn’t out of the ordinary to them.

Mouri: Wow! Well, I always heard that New York was a melting pot with different races.

Ryoga: Yeah, no doubt about that.

Ryoga: Then there’s… Spain. It’s not too bad over there either. The ham’s really good, and the beaches are nice.

Ryoga: Everyone’s got good vibes, too. But that’s just how Hispanics are.

Ryoga: They’ve got these beautiful, artistic cities just like in those photos. And there’s castles all over the place.

Ryoga: The only thing not listed on there are the dancers that practice in the parks.

Jackal: Dancers?

Ryoga: They got these flamenco dancers that’ll practice and put on surprise performances at places like El Retiro Park.

Ryoga: It’s really cool. And sometimes there’s even dance battles. That’s something neat you don’t even see at their bars.

Fuji: Wow, I’d like to see that.

Ryoga: And there’s… Oh, I’ve been to Macau. But you’ve been there too, haven’t you?

Mouri: Yep, on our expedition.

Ryoga: They speak Chinese over there, but it’s also European. And it has Asian vibes to it, it’s pretty interesting.

Ryoga: But it’s also a strange city, there’s a tiny amount of people that speak Portuguese there too, and it’s not considered a part of Europe or Asia.

Mouri: I guess you could say it’s exotic.

Jackal: I see… If they speak Portuguese, then I might be able to understand them…

Ryoga: I’ve been to other places, but I’m gonna leave it at that for now.

Fuji: It’s cool to hear stories from people who’ve actually been there, it gives you get a better feel of the foreign countries.

Jackal: Right. And it’s nice hearing about all these things that weren’t in the magazine!

Mouri: I’ve been to a couple of places before, but hearing about all this makes me wanna travel again.

Mouri: There’s still so many things I don’t know about this world.

[Improvement Level 3 - Episode 3]

Mouri: Whenever I see these places in the travel magazines, I wanna go there so bad.

Byoudouin: Huh, what are you talking about.

Mouri: Byoudouin-san!

Ryoga: Hm. What was the world like from your perspective?

Byoudouin: Huh?

Ryoga: You and Duke traveled a lot, didn’t you?

Byoudouin: …—Europe is indeed strong.

Mouri: Strong?

Byoudouin: Germany’s leader: Volk, France, Spain, Greece…

Byoudouin: The countries I’ve listed are at the top of the world’s rankings. The chances of their players going pro is also high.

Byoudouin: However… there’s another matter. Tennis has not been made prominent in developing countries such as Africa.

Byoudouin: Tennis requires the proper equipment, so it’s not played at all in some areas since they don’t have access to it.

Byoudouin: It’s such a shame since the people there have such high physical capabilities. Quite unfortunate.

Byoudouin: If tennis were more accessible for them, they would make good rivals.

Mouri: (All this info’s interestin’ to me as a U-17 player, but…)

Fuji: (It has nothing to do with traveling…)

Byoudouin: All good?

Mouri: Oh, yeah! That was very useful information! Thank you very much, Byoudouin-san!

Byoudouin: Hmph… Well, you’d better do your best and stay focused so you don’t get the rug swept from under you.

Byoudouin: The world’s full of people like you have never seen before. There’s not a second to lose.

Mouri: (He’s right. That info he gave us is important if we’re gonna go up against the world.)

Mouri: You’re right. Well, this was a nice change of pace, and hearing all that’s got me pumped up.

Mouri: Let’s go practice for a bit, everyone!

Fuji: Sounds good.

Jackal: Let’s do it!

Mouri: (…I won’t let myself lose like that again.)

[Improvement Level 4 - Episode 1]

Mizuki: *sigh*…

Chitose: What’s wrong, Mizuki?

Mizuki: Even though I blow-dried my hair, the humidity’s still making a mess out of it.

Mizuki: Rainy days like these are intolerable.

Chitose: Yeah, I get you. My hair does not agree with me on rainy days, especially in the morning.

Kirihara: Me too! No matter what I do, I still get all frizzy.

Mizuki: Hm… I’m glad we can agree on something, but don’t be thinking my hairstyle can be lumped in with yours.

Kirihara: Huh, what do you mean!! Our hair’s pretty much the same, isn’t it!?

Mizuki: No, it isn’t.

Mouri: I get you too. That’s how it is when you got curly hair.

Mizuki: …Mouri-san.

Mouri: You can’t blow-dry it, oil it up, or do nothin’ to help when it’s rainy. Your hair’s gonna go everywhere no matter what.

Chitose: All you can do is just accept it.

Mizuki: You two are quite the carefree characters, Mouri-san and Chitose-kun. At least that’s what I’ve calculated.

Mouri: Really? Well, it’s just ‘cause my curls are a part of me.

Mouri: Hey, what about you, Akutagawa? You’re pretty curly yourself.

Jirou: Mm, am I curlier than usual? Well, I don’t “C” it, so it doesn’t matter!

Mizuki: …That optimistic outlook does have me envious.

Mouri: You’re the type that lets things get under your skin, huh.

Mizuki: Well, of course. Appearances are important.

Mouri: So do you calculate your curliness, too?

Mizuki: No, that would be difficult to calculate. I’ve been calculating a hairstyle that would go well with my waves.

Mouri: Oh, gotcha! You got this, data man.

Mouri: (I didn’t know I’d make so many “Curly Alliances” here!)

[Improvement Level 4 - Episode 2]

Mouri: Just wondering, how do you guys improve your concentration?

Tanegashima: Huh, what’re you asking that for?

Mouri: Well, a middle schooler had asked me for advice. He was wondering how he could sharpen his concentration.

Mouri: So, please fill me in!

Irie: Haha, what a difficult question.

Tanegashima: Well for you, you’re sharp as a tack when you’re asleep, but…

Mitsuya: You’re an average player when you’re awake.

Mouri: I know! And I wanna do something to fix that!

Tanegashima: How ambitious of you☆

Irie: How does it feel when you’re in the zone? If you can figure that out, that might be a hint?

Mouri: Mm… that’s hard to say…

Mouri: Well, to be honest, it’s like I’m in the middle of these fluffy clouds, and all I can see is the ball…

Mouri: Wait, so I’m aware of that at least!?

Mitsuya: I see, but it’s not much to go off of.

Mouri: Well, what about you guys, what gets you concentrating?

Tanegashima: Lemme think… Oh, yeah. I guess when I’m having fun?

Mouri: Having fun?

Mitsuya: He does make a good point, you’re free from all pressures once you’re in a state of pure enjoyment…

Mitsuya: It is a proven method of boosting concentration in tennis.

Mouri: Oh, yeah…? And what about you, Tsuki-san?

Ochi: …I’m not interested.

Irie: Well, you are in doubles now, Mouri-kun. So there may be times where trying to concentrate on your own won’t be enough.

Irie: Perhaps it’d be better if you tried boosting your concentration with Ochi and strengthen your synchronization?

Mitsuya: Irie-san is right. You both excel as singles players anyway.

Mitsuya: It would only make sense to prioritize improving each other’s skills as a doubles pair, so that you may also improve in doubles…

Mitsuya: It should also have a positive effect on your individual skills.

Mitsuya: As well as being the most direct way for mutual improvement.

Mouri: Ohh? Alright… Well, Tsuki-san, let’s both do our best, shall we?

Mouri: Well, I say both of us, but all I end up doing is following your lead, Tsuki-san.

Ochi: …It’s no trouble for me.

Mouri: Really!?

Mouri: Okay! Then let’s become the best doubles partners, and improve our skills as rivals!

[Improvement Level 4 - Episode 3]

Mouri: Hah!!

Mouri: Kuh…!

Mouri: Dammit! Tsuki-san, one more time, please!

—

Sanada: …Seeing Mouri-senpai practicing so diligently… What a rare sight to behold.

Niou: No kidding. I can’t even recall a time where we practiced together when he was at Rikkai.

Yagyuu: Right. He hardly ever showed up.

Marui: I’ve caught him ditching before.

Jackal: But he’s changed into a whole new person, hasn’t he?

Sanada: Even so. I would’ve never imagined that he’d become so serious about practicing.

Yagyuu: I as well. I wonder what could’ve changed him.

Marui: Oh. I actually heard about it from Yanagi. He said he noticed a change after he lost to Ochi-senpai in the first round of the Kanto Tournament.

Niou: Huh, as expected of our Counselor, always quick to investigate.

Yagyuu: Right, and speaking of…

Marui: He was definitely pissed about all that.

Sanada: …Even though he did skip practice, he was still a strong player. That’s why he wasn’t dropped as a regular.

Sanada: And now, that very person is practicing so seriously…

Niou: Is it even possible for him to become stronger than he was then?

Jackal: It’s like that saying. Like adding things—I mean, wings to a tiger?

Yagyuu: Right on the money, Kuwahara-kun.

Sanada: But even if we’re unable to surpass him now, we can’t afford any losses.

Sanada: Let us practice with determination to reach his level and go beyond him!

Marui: Right!

Niou: We’ll make those high schoolers eat our dust.

[Improvement Level 5 - Episode 1]

Mouri: Ah, it’s almost time for practice. Tsuki-san’s probably already there, so I better start headin’ over…

Mouri: …Hm, Chitose? Whatcha doin’ here?

Chitose: Uh-oh, I’ve been caught.

Mouri: What’s this, you skippin’?

Chitose: Mm, not skipping, I was just wandering around and thought I’d take a little nap before I start.

Mouri: Ah, that sounds nice. Takin’ a walk. Sometimes you need a change of pace like that.

Mouri: Oh, by the way Chitose, you don’t speak in Kansai dialect, but have you always been at Shitenhoji?

Chitose: Nope. I moved from Kumamoto and ended up there.

Mouri: That’s what I thought! It must’ve been hard for you to get used to Shitenhoji. No other school’s as unique as that one.

Chitose: Ahaha! True, Shitenhoji is definitely unique, and it did take me a while to get used to it.

Mouri: It’s a school that specializes in comedy.

Mouri: I transferred from the comedic Shitenhoji to the uptight Rikkai, I couldn’t get used to their vibes at all.

Mouri: When I had introduced myself, I made a joke like I did at Shitenhoji since I thought it’d be a good way to break the ice, but the whole class just gave me blank stares.

Mouri: Even the teacher was confused, I messed up so bad, I was so embarrassed.

Chitose: I couldn’t wrap my head around the school rules at Shitenhoji when I first started.

Chitose: At the assembly when the principal was talking, everyone started mocking him…

Chitose: I was wondering what was going on, but then they all got mad at me, I had no clue what was happening.

Mouri: Right, “Rule Number 1: When the principal talks, we all mock.”

Mouri: Other principals’ speeches are so borin’ and hard to sit through when you’re used to that~

Chitose: Yeah it does get you hooked after you’ve listened to it…

Chitose: By the way, Mouri-san. Haven’t we been talking for a bit now? Shouldn’t you be at practice?

Mouri: Augh, that’s right! Me and Tsuki-san were gonna try out new formations today!

Mouri: Tsuki-san’s gonna be so mad… No, I’ll make it if I make a run for it!

Mouri: Anyway, Chitose! I gotta get goin’! Let’s talk again sometime!

Chitose: Right, right, see ya later.

[Improvement Level 5 - Episode 2]

Mouri: (Yesterday’s practice was pretty interestin’.)

Mouri: (I thought that one formation wasn’t gonna work for us, but it actually did.)

Mouri: (But then the one I thought was gonna work didn’t work at all.)

Mouri: (It ended up bein’ a waste of time since it really screwed with our strong points…)

Mouri: (I wonder what we could do to make the most of our individuality…)

Mouri: (The one that worked will definitely become a weapon in matches if we keep practicin’ it, and we’ll refine it, but that other one…)

Mouri: Man, what a pain! I can’t come up with anythin’ good…

Jirou: …Mghh…

Mouri: Hm? What’s that noise?

Jirou: …Zzz…

Mouri: …Oh, Akutagawa.

Jirou: …Mm…

Mouri: Haha, sleepin’ like a babe. Heyy, can you hear me?

Jirou: …Zzz…

Mouri: Haha, he’s sound asleep.

Mouri: But it is nice out today, it would be nice to sleep out here.

Mouri: Man, makes me wanna sleep too…

Mouri: *yawn*~…

Mouri: Oh no, I’m gettin’ sleepy now… I could just fall asleep right here…

Mouri: …Zzz…

Mouri: No!! I can’t, I can’t!!

Mouri: I have to review yesterday’s formations with Tsuki-san today!

Mouri: I can’t be doin’ this right now! I gotta hurry to the courts and get practicin’!

Mouri: Well, Akutagawa! Get a lotta sleep for me!!

Jirou: Nnah…?

Jirou: Feels like someone was just here…

Jirou: Mm… or maybe I just imagined it… mnah, mnah…

Jirou: …Zzz…

[Improvement Level 5 - Episode 3]

Mouri: Ah, Tsuki-san! Sorry I kept you waiting!

Ochi: …I wasn’t waiting.

Mouri: Hehe… So what’ll we do today? I’m thinking it’d be good to practice the formation that worked for us yesterday…

Ochi: …We’re not practicing doubles today.

Mouri: Huh?

Ochi: We’ll be practicing singles to improve our individual skills.

Mouri: S-Seriously!!

Mouri: Augh, I’m so happy! When’s the last time we played singles together?

Ochi: …I’m not interested. Let’s get started.

Mouri: Right!

—

Ochi: Huh…

Mouri: Rah!

Ochi: …Here comes a poach.

Mouri: Uh? Okay!

Ochi: …

Mouri: Crap!

Ochi: Hm… You returned it.

Mouri: Hehe, I’m not gonna lose!

Ochi: This next one’s going to be a lob, so get back.

Mouri: Huh? Oh, right!

Ochi: …

Mouri: There we go!

Mouri: (Oh man, playin’ singles with Tsuki-san is so much fun!)

Mouri: (But it looks like Tsuki-san’s got a lot of fight in him…)

Mouri: (He keeps givin’ me tasks, but I have to really put in the work to get ‘em done.)

Mouri: (Tsuki-san’s amazin’ as usual!)

Ochi: …Now’s not the time to lose focus.

Mouri: I wasn’t! The only thing on my mind is our match, Tsuki-san!

Ochi: …I see.

Mouri: (I can’t lose either! Someday, in an official match…)

Mouri: I will defeat you, Tsuki-san!

Ochi: Not that I’m interested, but you’ll have to become stronger for that to happen.

Mouri: Right!

[Improvement Level 6 - Episode 1]

Kamio: Man, that height is something else…

Ibu: He’s way taller than us, isn’t he? It wasn’t fair…

Tachibana: But it was an excellent opportunity to go up against a high schooler and upperclassman.

Kamio: Yeah! Not to mention it’s unbelievable that we got to go up against the silent and stony Ochi-san!

Mouri: Huh!? What did you guys do with Tsuki-san!?

Kamio: Whoa!?

Ibu: …Don’t scare us like that… Just because you’re a high schooler doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want…

Mouri: Oh sorry, my bad. But I was so surprised when I heard Tsuki-san’s name come up, I had to see what’s goin’ on.

Kamio: Please pay no mind to what he was saying!

Mouri: So, did you really do somethin’ with Tsuki-san?

Tachibana: Yes. We basically did a rematch of the Red vs. White competition, with the balloons and everything.

Mouri: How nice! I wish I could’ve played too… You should invite me next time.

Kamio: How about we do it right now!?

Mouri: Huh?

Kamio: The situation was different last time, so let’s go at it again head-on and fair-and-square, Mouri-san!

Ibu: There were a lot of rules and restrictions during that competition… But here at the camp, we don’t have to worry about that.

Tachibana: We hardly ever get the chance to practice with you too, Mouri-san, we only faced each other during that competition.

Mouri: (These middle schoolers are right, I was just a nuisance for everyone durin’ it, and we couldn’t even fight on equal terms.)

Mouri: (How would it turn out if me and these guys went toe-to-toe?)

Mouri: Okay, let’s have ourselves a battle!

Kamio: Alright! We’ll get the balloons ready!

Mouri: (But isn’t three on one a lil’ much? Well, I guess I am a high schooler though…)

Mouri: (If it’d be two vs. two, then it wouldn’t be fair to the others. I guess this would be best with the power difference.)

Tachibana: All set.

Mouri: Alright then, let’s get to it!

[Improvement Level 6 - Episode 2]

Mouri: Alright, we’re doin’ obstacle trainin’ today!

Kikumaru: Wow, how cool!

Gakuto: This’ll really polish our strengths!

Tokugawa: This type of training is good from time to time.

Mouri: Okay, let’s get started everyone~

—

Kikumaru: Hoi hoiii~♪

Gakuto: There we go!

Tokugawa: Oh, you two have good core body strength. What are your training methods?

Kikumaru: Mmm, I don’t really know! What about you, Mukahi?

Gakuto: I feel like doing my acrobatics naturally strengthens my core!

Tokugawa: I see, so it’s natural for you… I’m quite envious of that.

Mouri: Must be nice being able to bounce around like that~

Kikumaru: I think it’d be totally awesome to see you do acrobatics since you’re so tall, Mouri-senpai!

Mouri: Haha, thanks! But yeah, I’m a little too big to try and master acrobatics at this point.

—

Mouri: Mm, this hole’s pretty small. Maybe it’d be better for someone shorter…? How about you guys, Kikumaru, Mukahi.

Gakuto: I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Kikumaru: There’s no way we could do it, you’d have to dislocate your joints~!

Mouri: Oh! Okay, let’s dislocate ‘em, then.

Gakuto: Huh!?

*CRK, CRK!*

Mouri: There we go.

Kikumaru: HUHHH!!!???

Mouri: Ooh, I think I can do it!

Kikumaru: Hold on a sec! Your joints dislocate that easily!?

Mouri: Yeah, dislocatin’ my joints is my specialty.

Gakuto: Is that even something you should be bragging about!?

Mouri: It’s fine, it’s fine! Now I can fit… see!

Tokugawa: No, you should refrain from damaging your joints since there could be recurring issues.

Mouri: Mmm, is that so…

Tokugawa: I think you should receive medical attention at once.

Gakuto: He’s right! You definitely should!

Kikumaru: Yeah, yeah! You should go to the infirmary ASAP!

Tokugawa: Let’s end this training here and head back. Mouri, you will report to the infirmary.

Mouri: H-Huhh~…

Mouri: (But just a little more and I could’ve done it…)

[Improvement Level 6 - Episode 3]

Mouri: Comin’ in.

Shiraishi: Huh, Mouri-san?

Mouri: What’s this, Shiraishi and Oishi, it’s the “-ishi” combo.

Oishi: Haha, “-ishi” combo, huh…

Shiraishi: That’d be nice, Oishi-kun. Why don’t you and I become a combo?

Oishi: H-Huh…?

Mouri: Yeah, that’d be pretty cool.

Oishi: A-Anyway, why are you here, Mouri-senpai?

Mouri: Ah, right, right. I dislocated my joints earlier, and it shocked everyone.

Mouri: I tried tellin’ ‘em I was fine, but they kept freakin’ out and tellin’ me to get checked…

Oishi: Uh no, how could that be fine!?

Mouri: Huh?

Oishi: Don’t you know that your joints aren’t meant to be dislocated!? That’s just basic knowledge of the human body!!

Mouri: W-Wha… really?

Shiraishi: Of course they aren’t! Oishi-kun’s exactly right!

Shiraishi: When you dislocate a joint, the tissue that was preventing dislocation shifts and then it becomes easier to dislocate!

Mouri: I see… But really, it’s no problem.

Oishi: “It’s no problem”, you say?

Mouri: …Oop.

Mouri: (Oh no, I shouldn’t have said that.)

Oishi: LISTEN!

Oishi: If it’s happened once or twice, then it can be fixed with your bare hands, but if it keeps happening, then you’ll require surgery for it to heal properly!

Oishi: And you know how devastating surgery is for us athletes!

Mouri: …Yeah, uh-huh…

Shiraishi: Do you truly understand?

Mouri: I-I do, I do.

Oishi: If you understand, then please refrain from doing it here on out.

Shiraishi: If you dislocate them again, then I’ll have to report you to the coaches and you’ll get sent to a rehabilitation facility. Do you understand!?

Mouri: Y-Yes! I absolutely do! I swear!

Mouri: (When did these two get so scary!?)

If you’re wondering why he talks different at certain parts, it’s because he does in Japanese. That’s the point.

[jacobb99]

I saw something strange at my local Astro-Mart pt. 3

Well despite my better judgment. I took the job at Astro-Mart, and its been pretty weird. So, one of you guys recommended I take a look at the security footage, and so the first time I got a chance to I did. And uh it was kinda weird but also underwhelming. So the footage for the day in question is mostly normal, you can even see the point where the Smorgasbeast was banging on the glass, but the second it would have entered the store, the video skips to what looks like a group of guys in hazmat gear cleaning up the store. Sadly I don’t think Antonio got out, they were cleaning up a very large puddle of blood where I saw him get bit by that thing.

Mostly the job is pretty boring, I clock in at eight and go check the store for anything amiss, you know knocked over shelves, misplaced products, mysterious spills on the floor. That kinda thing, other than that the job is pretty boring, just sitting at the register waiting for customers. Most of the time it’s the “Normal” people from around here coming in to buy snacks, there is also this old lady that comes in and buys almost $30 of scratch-off tickets and a pack of Newports every night at 4 am. I mean seriously who gets up at 4 am and thinks, oh boy time for a smoke! Other than that its pretty much just me in the store by myself, thankfully since I’m on the nightshift I’m allowed to listen to music and stuff, I also get a chair. Well its actually a stool, one of those folding black ones you can get at Wal-Mart for like $10, so its not exactly comfortable but its better than standing for my entire shift lol. But based on what kind of places have kept my story up and the comments I’ll get to the part you are actually interested in.

               I  had my first supernatural experience while working here on my Sunday shift, so it was about 2 AM I was playing Skullgirls Mobile (which is really good you should play it) on my phone, when the door opens and I am hit with this horrid smell, it smelled like a mixture of rotten fish, skunk, bad teenager BO, and that smell urine gets when you eat way too much asparagus. I look to the door, and squeezing his way in is this massive dude, probably about 7 ft. and very overweight he looked like one of the dudes from that “My 600 lbs. Life” show except he was covered in this greenish black hair all over his body that was maybe about a foot long. He walks in and he is eating what after I bit of research found out was probably a Burmese python, like it was drumstick. Anyway he manages to squeeze his way inside and makes his way over to the “Fresh Foods” section. He grabs a Klondike bar, he then shambles over to our coffee machine and makes himself a cup of coffee (2 creams, 2 sugars if you were interested) and brings it to the register. Now when he looked me in the eye I probably would have screamed if I hadn’t been putting all my willpower into not vomiting. But I was pretty freaked out cause he looked at me and smiled and he had teeth like a gorilla, with the superlong insisors (I think that’s the word). But I managed to hold my dinner long enough tell him that his total would be $2.92, the guy then reaches behind him and places three dollars and 50 cents on the counter (all of which were very clean I might add), and then he grabbed his purchases and walked out. Now, I have no real proof this guy was supernatural or anything, I mean this is Florida, people eat roadkill down here so and maybe he has some weird deformities or something. So uh yeah not sure what that was, I kinda hope he doesn’t come back because it smelled like him for the rest of the

Now as for the reason I’m posting today. I had an encounter with the “Tall Man” last night.

Ok so theres this big manual in the office right? And its got all kinds of stuff, like what pattern to clean the floor, when to dispose of hotdogs that have been on the roller (idfk what are in these dogs but they are supposed to stay on the roller for 3 months before I can throw them out, almost certain that’s a healthcode violation but according to the internet they technically be there indefinitely if at the right temp?) anyway so it got all these nice laminated pages, but taped on the inside front cover is a piece of paper that reads:

“The Tall Man

Every other Monday a Tall Russian man in a long coat will walk into the store, when he does tell him:

“Your order is in the back sir, please leave your payment up front”

He will place some money on the counter and then head into the freezer, DO NOT leave the register no matter what you hear until after he leaves the store.”

Well, he came in, and this guy way tall, if I had to guess probably 9 ft? He was hunching over to walk around and he was wearing a long gray military coat, after digging around I think It might be a soviet era military parade overcoat? Anyway he was wearing that, and black pants and boots. He walked up the counter and said in a deep, heavily accented voice:

“Has my orrrder arrrived?”

I responded with, “Your order is in the back s-sir, please leave your p-payment up front” because I was pretty freaked out by this point, plus this guy was intimidating as all get out. Anyway he says:

“Zank you, I vill go get it.” Then he sets what I think are rubles down on the counter and heads into the freezer. I do my best to sort through the crumpled up notes and put them in the register, and after a few minutes he walks back through the store carrying two huge boxes labeled “Meat” and walks out the door, he then steps off the sidewalk and vanishes into thin air.

Not sure what to think of that, and honestly I don’t feel as freaked out as I probably should be? Maybe its cause I knew what to expect going in? Not sure, right now I am uh, not sure how to describe it, its like my emotions are muffled? I guess? Not sure how else to describe the feeling?

Um I should answer some of the questions I’ve gotten shouldn’t I.

They pay me $20 an hour and I work from 8 pm to 5 am.

I haven’t seen or heard from Antonio.

Some people have been calling the Smorgasbeast a Caudate? Not sure what that means? All that comes up when I google that word is pictures of brains?

The Monoxide explanation doesn’t make sense, apparently I wasn’t in the store long enough to start hallucinating, and if there was enough to cause them that quickly I would probably be dead.

As to the removal of my post on r/nosleep, not sure what to do about that, the complaints where that I was “out of character” too much? How can I be out of character in a post about events occurring in my life? So I don’t think I will be posting there anymore. If you want more I would recommend wherever you are seeing this but also my tumblr and r/Horror_stories

I was sleeping a little better, but now that I work a nightshift my sleep schedule is all kinds of out of whack. As you could probably guess by what time of day I am posting this at.

I also have a subreddit of my own now r/AstroMartStories so uh yeah if you have any theories or ideas on whats going on head there I guess?

Anyway I want to thank you all so much, I went from being laughed off message boards and told I’m just making this stuff up, to finding some people actually willing to listen to me, it means a lot.

[goddamnyouamy]

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[midnightsunnyday]

The Brothers Go To Bath & Body Works

A/N: because I was bored and like headcanons where the brothers are in ordinary situations doing ordinary things, yet because of their nature and ignorance of human culture, get in all types of trouble. Definitely counts as a crack post.

--------------

Lucifer: for horrid's sake it's like Asmodeus and Mammon's bathrooms exploded.

Satan: for once I have to agree with you. This place is a bit...assaulting.

Leviathan: ugh. This is just like that anime I watched: My Partner Tricked Me Into Going Shopping And Now I'm Stuck Watching Them Make Horrible Financial Decisions!

MC: that sounds way too contrived to be a real show.

Satan: furthermore, are we really about to spend an hour shopping for candles?

MC: no, I'm about to spend an hour shopping for candles. You all can wait outside *sighs* At least Asmo gets it.

Asmodeus: such splendor! Such rapture! I mean just look at it: the colors! The scents! The mini hand sanitizers! Oooh, and is that a sale? Buy three get two free, you say?

Lucifer, scanning the shelves: and what is this absurdity?  Pumpkin pecan, pumpkin apple, vanilla pumpkin, pumpkin clove, cinnamon pumpkin, caramel pumpkin...just what is it with you humans and your obsession with pumpkins?

MC: hey, don't judge my culture. Pumpkin scented and flavored products are an annual mortal tradition.

Lucifer: a tradition that should be banned, clearly.

Mammon: humans sure are strange though. I mean, why have an entire store dedicated to something so lame?

Satan: well, candles can be used for many purposes, but for most humans they're not only therapeutic, but romantic. In fact, it's customary for human lovers to light a multitude of candles around their dwelling to draw in their mate.

Mammon: to draw in their mate, huh? Ya don't say...

*loud clanging noises*

MC: Mammon...why are you scooping an entire row of candles into your shopping bag?

Mammon: oi, what are ya the candle police? Don't worry about it.

Salesperson: just so you know, all our three wick candles are--

Mammon: --buy three get two free. Yeah, yeah, we read the sign!

--------------

Belphegor: hey, which scent do you think smells better on me?

MC: *sniffs* ooh, I really like the lavender one.

Belphegor: good, then that's the one I'll buy. That way, when we finish taking our naps together, you'll smell me all over your sheets. And your clothes. And your pillows. And the rest of your room.

MC: sounds very...Pavlovian. Just no leashes or collars, please. 

Belphegor: I think you might have me confused with Lucifer...and possibly Satan.

--------------

Asmodeus: Satan dear, please tell me you aren't going to buy that just because it has a cat on it?

Satan, blushing: of course not. I was just...looking, is all.

Leviathan: you know, you're kinda behaving like an otaku who wants to buy all the latest merch of their favorite character.

Asmodeus: so like you, then?

Leviathan: hey! Otaku are a proud people who fuel their hobbies with the upmost passion and dedication. There's no shame in it.

Asmodeus: whatever you say, brother ~

Salesperson: just so you know, that's our limited edition Halloween scent, which is only around for the holidays.

Satan: hmm...

Salesperson, wearing a cheeky grin: we also have cat shaped plug ins.

Satan: where?

Asmodeus: now wait just a--

Salesperson: --did I also mention that we're having a sale on all our bath products?

Asmodeus: on all the bath products, you say?

Leviathan, rolling his eyes: normies.

--------------

Salesperson: excuse me, sir?

Lucifer, sighing: if you're attempting to sell me something, then I rather hear the quick version.

Salesperson: it's just that you seem a bit...tense. Do you happen to suffer from stress? If so, I can show you a few items in our aromatherapy collection.

*Lucifer, gazing over at Leviathan and Mammon*

Mammon: ok, ok, on the count of three. One, two...three!

*Leviathan and Mammon shrieking in pain as they spritz body mist into each other's eyes*

Lucifer: ...I'm listening.

--------------

Belphegor: hey guys, I don't think it was a good idea to bring Beel in here.

Lucifer: meaning....

Beelzebub, holding two candles and mumbling to himself: this one says banana walnut muffin and this one says warm apple pie, but it's not a muffin and that's not a pie, but it smells like one, but I can't eat it, but it's named after food, but it's not food...*falls to his knees* it's not food.

Leviathan: uh...

Beelzebub, in a trance like state: it's not food. It's not food. It's not food.

Satan: well, this doesn't look good.

Mammon, placing a hand on Beelzebub's shoulder: hey, little bro. You ok?

Beelzebub: so...the time for retribution has come? Such an ironic fate, being made to roam this chamber which torments me with scents familiar, yet unable to satiate. For centuries I've scourged the lands, devouring flesh to still the pain that naws at my being. Cursed to eat without gain. Without joy. Forever crowned as the sin of gluttony, a crown in which I sometimes find too heavy to bear. For some, I was once a god, for others a mere pest. Even so, I find myself in a hell not of my own creation, but one in which I rightfully deserve.

MC: um, Beel? I love you, but you're freaking everyone out.

Beelzebub, looking up at MC with empty eyes: ah, the mortal to whom I am bound. Tell me, are you here to guide me towards salvation? Or are you too like these wondering souls, searching for nourishment in that which is fleeting? However, I advise you make your decision with haste, as soon I will no longer be able to tell friend from prey.

*silence*

MC: ...we really need to get him some food.

Mammon, helping Beelzebub to his feet: ok, time to go, buddy.

Asmodeus: how about we get you some McDonald's. Do you like McDonald's, Beel?

Beelzebub: immortality is a curse. The only true salvation lies in oblivion.

Asmodeus: ...he wants McDonald's.

*at the food court*

Asmodeus: still, I can't believe I ended up purchasing several bags worth of lotions, candles, and body sprays *shivers* such an insidious place. I love it!

Lucifer: admittedly, this pillow mist is very soothing. Though may I suggest that next time we go somewhere less...traumatizing?

Satan, staring down into his bag full of cat shaped plug ins: *sighs* agreed.

Mammon and Leviathan, holding a cup of ice to their eyes: definitely.

MC: I just wanted us all to go shopping. How was I suppose to know scented candles would make Beel suffer an existential breakdown?

Lucifer: speaking of which, how are you feeling, Beel?

Beelzebub, stuffing his face: cheeseburgers and nuggets are my favorite food from McDonald's.

Lucifer: that's nice Beel.

Leviathan: well, that problem solved itself.

Mammon: but man, what a day. All this shopping sure gave me quite the workout *stretches his arm over MC* I think I'm just gonna head home, light a bunch of candles around my dwelling, let MC walk in and ya know...see what happens.

MC: *sighs* This is exactly the reason why I shop online.

[shorkbrian]

Not a request!! But just thiking about shinso watching you while you buy your vibrator, ofc hes in there looking for no pussy pockets to fuck but he just cant quit looking at you, you looked so “innocent” or “naive” trying to be descreet, him following you home and raping your cunt while using the new vibrator you just bought.

ahudssaduashiubfsd literally this concept has not left my mind since u sent it in AHHHHHH

(What to expect - ahhhh sex toys, noncon, dubcon, NSFW )

Cause yeah, it’s your first time in a sex shop, you’re flushed and a bit embarrassed and nervous. You’re pretty sure it’s obvious to the clerk that you’re a fumbling virgin, but you’re trying to be brave, and you want a vibrator, dammit!

You’ve heard so much about how good they feel, and you’re pent up and horny and you want to be able to get off in a few minutes rather than the 30+ it takes for you to orgasm with just your fingers.

A vibrator is just practical.

But ordering it online is intimidating, you can’t tell the sizes or feel the vibrations, so in-person shopping it is.

There’s just a few other people in the shop besides you, there’s music, it’s a nice atmosphere.

Shinsou takes one look at you when you timidly brush past him, and he’s smitten. He’s immediately plagued with what your face would look like when you cry, those big beautiful eyes filled with tears, a fat cock shoved down your throat. How you’d react to someone teasing you, someone edging you or denying you.

Would you pout? Would you be bratty and seductive?

Oh, but you’re so nervous, face aflame as you force yourself to look at all the various toys, there’s no way you aren’t a virgin. You’d be a mess while taking cock, overwhelmed and unable to do anything but gasp and moan.

Shinsou has to adjust himself in his pants.

He’s there for a pocket pussy, but he can’t tear his eyes off you.

“Looking for something specific?”

You jump at the sound of his voice - you even look cute when you’re scared.

“Uhm, yeah? I mean-well, kinda....” You can’t meet his eyes, can’t look at the toys, too shy and embarrassed by the phallic shapes and the glaring advertisements.

“This one feels really nice, I have one at home and it’s reliable and quiet.” Shinsou points to a wand, long with a bulbous vibrating ball at the tip. He knows it looks intimidating. “But if you’re a newbie... it’ll probably be too intense. You ever used stuff like this before?”

You blush even harder, the flush traveling down your neck while you shake your head, eyes shooting to the floor so you don’t have to look at the man, nor the toys.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, everyone starts somewhere.” He’s playing the part of helpful, experienced, good samaritan. Helping you out of the kindness of his heart.

He moves a bit, down the aisle, grabs a package from the wall. “This one might be more your speed. It’s less powerful.” 

The purple haired man knows most of these products. He spends a lot of nights  with one toy or another, is intimately acquainted with their different functions. Half the store clerks know him by name. Thinking about it, Shinsou could probably get some good money out of doing product reviews.

You take the package from his hands, fingers looking so short and little compared to his. No wonder you’re getting a toy, you can’t reach anything with those.

“Of course, that style is meant for penetration. You wanting something to go inside? Something thick like that?” He knows he’s pushing, but you’ve been open to his help so far.

You hurriedly push the package back towards the man, shaking your head with a blush on your cheeks.

Shinsou has to stop himself from chuckling, you’re just too cute.

He helps you pick out a flexible hand-held vibrator, one shaped like a pear and intended for external stimulation only. Gentle vibrations, a fun texture at the tip, it’s everything Shinsou thinks a virgin like you needs to enjoy themselves.

By the time you head up to the register, you seem more relaxed, able to look up a few times, talk in complete sentences.

Shinsou doesn’t want to let you go.

But it’s late, and you have to get home, and you politely decline his offer of him walking you at least to the bus (”It’s fine, I live just a few blocks from here.”). He wants to give you his phone number so you can text him when you get home, just in case you have any questions about the charging port - that always trips up beginners.

You turn down that offer as well.

Shinsou just shrugs it off, says he understands, and that he hopes you enjoy your new toy. He knows it’ll feel good.

When he steps up behind you at the counter, products in hand, you smile shyly at him before waving as you grab the small bag. The clerk raises her eyebrow at Shinsou once you head out the door.

“Pulling in the ladies while doing my job for me? Nice, dude.”

Shinsou smiles and shakes his head, just watches her scan the lube and condoms he’s purchasing.

It takes him a second to gather his wits when he steps out into the cool air. He’s still chubbed up in his pants, and he’s feeling a little irritated at how he went so far out of his way to help you, and you didn’t even show any appreciation. 

He sees you on the sidewalk, humming along to the music in your earbuds as you stroll along. 

An idea forms.

Shinsou finds his feet moving before he can even fully think it through, slow, measured steps following after you.

He’s gonna follow you home.

Strike right as you unlock your door, shove you inside before you know what’s happening, before you can scream.

Shinsou will show you how to use that vibrator, might have to gag your mouth so you don’t scream too loud when he makes you cum, but that’s okay. He’ll sit you in his lap and put his hands over yours and guide you in where to press the little vibrator in order to make your legs shake, to make your hips jump and your muscles tense.

There’s so many new sensations he can introduce you to, the numbing pleasure of an orgasm, the pleasant sting of overstimulation, the frustration in edging and the relief when you’re finally allowed to cum.

Maybe he could even convince you to letting him show you how it feels to have something inside your little cunt?

After all, he’s a gentleman - it’d be rude if he didn’t ask.

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won��t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Malleus Draconia Silk Adorned Personal Story: Part 1

"It is truly a pleasant experience"

Part 1 (Part 2)

[Scalding Sands – Camel Bazaar]

Malleus: As time passes, the heat has started to subside. The breeze is also pleasant.

Malleus: Now, which store are we heading to next, Viper?

Malleus: …? Viper isn’t here. As well as Clover, Diamond and the rest…

Malleus: I wonder where everyone went.

Malleus: As someone who is not familiar with this area, even if I were to go searching around recklessly, it is unlikely that I will find them. Whatever shall I do.

Kalim: Huh? It’s Malleus! Heey!

Malleus: Oya, if it isn’t Asim.

Malleus: Were you not busy going around greeting everyone as the organizer of the fireworks festival?

Kalim: If it’s about that, I’ve finished it up completely!

Kalim: I wanted to hang out with everyone, so I rushed over but… Where’s Jamil and the others?

Malleus: The thing is, they disappeared in the middle of sightseeing.

Kalim: Wow, even Malleus gets lost.

Malleus: That’s not true, Asim. It’s not as if I’ve gotten lost.

Malleus: There were just many things happening that the others lost sight of me. This sort of thing has always happened in the past.

Kalim: Uh-huh. But since it’s Jamil, I’m sure he’ll be able to quickly find you so it’ll be fine.

Kalim: It won’t do us any good trying to rush to contact them, let’s just enjoy shopping the two of us until we can meet up with them.

Malleus: Alright, I don’t mind.

Street Vendor: Hey, you there young man! You’re a tourist. Come take a look at my products for a second.

Malleus: Oh, this is a bracelet resembling a cobra.

Street Vendor: In the Scalding Sands, snakes are seen as an appreciated animal. Within them, cobras are especially respected.

Kalim: Yeah yeah! They say it’s based on the cobra staff that the Sorcerer of the Sands held.

Malleus: I see. Then to be granted the goodwill of the Sorcerer of the Sands, allow me to purchase one.

Street Vendor: Thanks for your patronage!

Sundries Vendor: Hey, young man over there! How would you like a silk place mat?

Sundries Vendor: It’s shaped like a parrot, isn’t it interesting?

Malleus: Well. Since it was expressly recommended, I suppose I’ll take it.

Kalim: Hey wait. Malleus, are you going to buy everything they call out to your for?

Malleus: Yes. It's rare for me to have cityfolk call out to me in such a familiar manner, it is truly a pleasant experience.

Kalim: I see! Then, let’s buy and buy a bunch! Even if there’s too many things, I’ll call a car, so it’ll be fine!

Crafts Vendor: … Hey, did you hear that? That young man, looks like he’ll buy anything.

Interior Vendor: Yeah, this is a golden opportunity to earn a lot.

Crafts Vendor: Young man! How about our sand art? You can even put your name into it!

Interior Vendor: This glass pen, it’s a fireworks festival limited edition. If you don’t buy it now, you won’t ever be able to get your hands on one again!

Commodities Vendor: How about a soap bar made of camel milk? The sun is strong, so it’s important to take care of your skin!

Children’s Things Vendor: This is a post card made of dried flowers. It’s perfect to remind you of this travel!

Kalim: Uwa! Sellers from a whole bunch of stores all started to gather!?

Malleus: If they all come at once, it’s problematic. I cannot talk with any of them.

Kalim: Hmm, that’s true. Let’s break away from here for now.

Kalim: Everyone, sorry! I’ll buy a lot next time!

Malleus: …

Kalim: Even though you specially wanted to enjoy shopping, I’m sorry Malleus.

Malleus: It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Asim.

Malleus: Besides, I was able to really get the feel of the energy of this city.

Malleus: It’s a lively city. I cannot believe this once was an uninhabitable desert region.

Malleus: This is the result of many years spent promoting trade by sea and land, as well as cultivating residential areas and agricultural lands.

Malleus: I seriously believed that humans were only a fleeting presence, however…

Malleus: They can inherit cultures that span multiple generations, and develop civilizations. They really are interesting.

Kalim: What you’re saying is a bit difficult for me to understand but… you’re saying that it’s a great city, right? I’m glad!

Kalim: Not to be outdone by my grandfather and my great-grandfather, I’m also going to invigorate Silk City!

Kalim: Is there a shop you want to see? If there’s a place you want to go, let me know.

Malleus: Let’s see. Then I suppose I…

Part 1 (Part 2)

[weelittleweasley]

meet the wealseys (f.w.)

prompt: you met fred at the joke shoppe when you had first arrived from america. after dating for a little while, he asks you to come and meet his family. needless to say, your visit to the burrow was one you’ll never forget.

pairing: post war! fred weasley x fem! american! reader

warnings: mention of the war and death, food and eating

word count: 6.4k

Diagon Alley was much different than what you had pictured, but in the best way possible. The tight quarters were packed with people as you pushed through, looking at the different store fronts, seeing how each one was uniquely different and magical. This was not what you were used to in the States, but you knew that you would become adjusted very soon. The hustle and bustle was refreshing and exciting for a young girl starting a new life abroad. As you continued to stroll along the alley, people called out to each other, exchanging sickles and galleons for merchandise, laughing and hugging each other, poking a smile onto your face. There were many stores to choose from, but you kept your eyes peeled for a store front that jumped out at you.

It didn’t take long for that to happen.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, the banner clearly spelt out with a animatronic person, tilting his hat up. Number 93 Diagon Alley. 

Your curiosity stirred inside of you as you shrugged and pushed the front door open. Sounded interesting enough. As you entered the shoppe, you were instantly greeted with screaming children, things zooming past you, and so many colors. The shoppe itself radiated childhood joy which made your heart soar with excitement.

Walking through out the store, you quickly realized that this was a joke shoppe with countless amounts of products. Ones that you were familiar with and others that you had never heard of. You laughed to yourself as you saw Dungbombs and U-No-Poos. “Clever,” you spoke to yourself as you continued to walk through the aisles of the stores. Whomever started this joke shoppe clearly had an affinity for their childhood and having fun; something you could gladly get on board with.

As you walked around, you saw how excited everyone was in the store. It was full of life and nostalgia and joy. There was laughter, smiles, and cheering; how could one not love it here? The store’s energy itself made you want to stay forever. As if England couldn’t get any better.

You filed through the shelves, shuffling through brightly colored packaging and funny titled products that brought glee to your face. Maybe you could purchase a few things and send some of them home back to your family and friends in America. They would get a kick out of these. Slowly, you had accumulated a pile of toys and such in your arms. I must look out of my mind, you think to yourself. A 20 year old girl by herself in a joke shoppe, carrying poop themed jokes. 

 “Need a basket?” a voice calls from behind you as you flip around. Standing there was a tall, well dressed man with flaming red hair gelled swiftly away from his face as he smiled at you. His chocolate brown eyes were warm and comforting and his smile was enough to have you weak in the knees. “Seems like you got your hands full,” he speaks before ducking his right eye down in a cheeky wink.

His forwardness took you by shock. You stammered for a second before finally speaking, “Yeah, sure, thank you.” He hands you a basket that you dump all of the products in. “I appreciate it, thanks,” you smile back at him.

The red haired gentleman speaks, “It’s my job. Literally.” You chuckle lightly, nodding your head, realizing he was the owner of the shoppe. The uniform, the proud badge he wore on his suit jacket, the amount of confidence he exuded. It made sense. “You’ve got a fine selection of products in your basket, I must admit,” he smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Some of our bestsellers.”

You smile back at him, tilting your head, trying to get a read on him. Was he trying to flirt? Or was he just trying to make a sale? “I suppose that’s why I’m buying them. Although, not all of them are for me, I must admit,” you sigh. “I’m sending some to my family back home. Figured my brother will like it.”

The owner nods his head, “Ah, yes. Nothing a brother loves more than poop themed pranks. What a brilliant sister you are,” he winks as you lightly chuckle. “I figure home is the States for you?” he asks as you furrow your brows, wondering how he knew. “Your accent. It’s pretty recognizable,” he laughs as you roll your eyes. “What brings you to London?”

At first, you hesitated sharing your story with a business owner of a joke shoppe that you had just met. But there was something about him that made you want to trust him. “I graduated from Ilvermorny four years ago. I decided I wanted to move out of the States to find other work to see if there were more job opportunities here. I moved here about a month or two ago,” you tell the flame haired man who leaned against the wall, listening to you intently as his eyes darted from your eyes to your body, quite obviously checking you out. You gulp when his eyes meet yours with a smirk on his face. Within an instant, you decide to play his game. “Besides, there are cuter men in London.”

He chuckles at your joke and nods his head. “Understandable. Seems like you moved for very important reasons,” he replies as you blush. “Can I check you out?”

You freeze. “Can you what?”

The gentleman laughs at your surprise. “Your merchandise? Can I ring you up?” he clarifies as you exhale a breath with a blush, lightly laughing before nodding. “Brilliant...besides, I’ve been checking you out since you walked into the store,” he simply states before leading the way to the cash register. Your heart stops as your mouth runs dry. At least he was honest. “I didn’t get your name,” he speaks as he ducks behind the counter, taking your basket and ringing up your things. “I’m Fred.”

Fred. The name suited him. You smile, “(Y/N),” you speak, extending you hand to shake his as he does so with a smirk on his lips. “The shoppe is really amazing. You must be proud of it,” you praise him as he smiles proudly.

“We are,” he speaks as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “My brother and I run the shoppe together. He’s my twin,” he reveals.

“Twin?” you clarify.

“Yeah, twin. Georgie!” Fred calls out into the shoppe. 

Suddenly, from behind a stack of boxes pops out a figure identical to Fred. “Good God,” you breathe out. The twin, now known as George, walks over to Fred as Fred slings an arm around his brother. As they stand next to each other, you realize just how identical they were. The only way telling them apart was the color of the shirt they wore. This would surely be trouble.

“George, this is (Y/N). She recently moved here from America,” Fred tells George who smiles widely at you, extending his hand to shake yours as you gladly accept it. “(Y/N), this is George, my twin.”

With a large smile, you speak to George, “Pleasure to meet you. I see where Fred gets his handsome looks from,” you joke around, making George laugh wildly.

“Oh, you’re brilliant. I like you already,” George beams before nudging his brother with a knowing look. Fred gave his brother a shove as George smirked at him, knowing exactly what was going on here. Unbeknownst to you. “Well, I hope this isn’t the last I see of you, (Y/N). I’ve got to go restock some shelves, but don’t be a stranger,” George tells you, very friendly for just having met each other. 

And just as quickly as he came, he’s gone, disappearing behind boxes. “He seems lovely,” you tell Fred who rolls his eyes, making you giggle. 

Fred shakes his head, “Ball breaker,” he huffs. “But he’s my brother. Gotta love him,” he smiles. “That’ll be three galleons,” he chimes. You look at him puzzled. There was enough merchandise there to be well over ten galleons, but he was only charging you three. But before you can protest, Fred speaks, “The new girl discount,” he winks as you smile at him gratefully before handing him three galleons. “I hope your brother enjoys his things.”

You look up at Fred and gulp. The fact that this complete stranger had you at a loss of words was beyond you. “I’m sure he’ll love them,” you speak honestly as Fred smiles softly. “I hope this isn’t the last time we see each other, Fred,” you reveal to him honestly. There was something about Fred that made you want to be around him. The life he had inside of him was enticing and exciting; he was different than other men you have met in London. 

Looking into your eyes, Fred gulps before speaking, “I’m sure it won’t be. In fact, since you’re still new to London, maybe I could show you around this weekend? I know a few good spots in the area. You know, since I’m a local.” 

His words make a grin appear on your lips as you nod your head, “That sounds really nice, Fred. I’d like that.”

“Wicked,” Fred breathes out as you giggle. “Saturday? We can make a day of it? We’ll meet here and I’ll give you a very comprehensive tour,” he wiggles his brows as you smile with a nod. “Until then, (Y/N).”

You give Fred a small wave goodbye before exiting the joke shoppe with two bags full of pranks and toys. And now a date for Saturday.

--------------------

“Fred, let’s get a move on! The shop opens in twenty and it’s new release day!” George yells from outside the bedroom door as Fred groan, cuddling further into your chest as you rub his back. “(Y/N)! Stop distracting my git brother!”

You chuckle as Fred calls back out, “Leave her out of this, you wanker! I’ll be ready in five!” George groans from outside of the door before you hear his footsteps disappear into the kitchen. Fred looks up at you as he lays on your chest, you brushing his floppy red hair out of his eyes. “I guess that’s my cue,” Fred huffs before peeling himself off you, rubbing his face with a groan.

It had been three months since you had met Fred that day in the joke shoppe. Three months since he had flirted with you and you had gone out on your first date. There was undeniable chemistry between you and Freddie. He adored how you loved to joke around, not taking yourself or anything too seriously. He adored that way you looked around London with such wonder and curiosity with wide eyes and smile. Fred loved the way you threw your head back with you laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. Fred loved when you bit back a smile when you teased him before giving in and falling into a fit of giggles. Fred was smitten with you and you him. You adored his confidence and professionalism, but you adored even more the way he could act like a fool at the drop of a hat. Fred was childlike in the best way possible. He was a breath of fresh air. He was what you needed when you moved here.

“Oh, come on, Freddie,” you sit up in the bed, Fred’s large t-shirt draped over your body. “It’s new release day! That should be loads of fun! Besides, after the work day is over, you know I’ll be waiting for you,” you kiss his shoulder blade. You worked just up the road at the Apothecary, so it was easy for Fred to run over and see you on his lunch break. That was Fred’s favorite part of the day. He secretly wished that you didn’t get another job, so he could easily run over on those lunch breaks to steal a quick kiss and see your face. Even if it was for three minutes. 

Fred begrudgingly pulls on his suit pants, huffing, “I can only hope that this release goes well. George and I invested a lot into this release and if it doesn’t do well, then we’ll lose a lot.”

You give your darling a knowing look, “It won’t do poorly, Fred. You and I both know that.” Fred gives you a gentle smile as he buttons up his shirt. “Come here,” you sit up on your knees as Fred walks over the edge of the bed. You pull his tie around his neck before tying it for him, something you knew he loved. “Today is going to be a brilliant day and you are going to sell out. I feel it in my gut.”

Fred takes your chin in his fingers, forcing your gaze up to his. His eyes look into yours with adoration before he pulls you in for a sweet kiss as you smile into it. Fred’s lips move gently against yours, making your stomach sway in excitement. Kissing Fred never got old. He gently pull away from you, pushing his forehead against yours. “I love you, angel,” he coos as you blush. He pecks the tip of your nose before sighing, “I’ll stop by the apothecary around lunch to update you on how sales are going.”

With a small nod, you watch him open the bedroom door and get ready to leave. “I love you, Freddie. You’ll be great,” you call after him as he sends you a wink.

“What about me?!” George’s voice booms from the other room. 

You laugh and sigh, “You’ll be phenomenal, Georgie!”

“Hah! I got a phenomenal and you got a great, Fred! Guess (Y/N) has a favorite twin!” George teases his brother as you hear a slap and George squeal an Ouch!

“Oh, would you shut your fat mouth and get downstairs!” Fred exclaims at his brother, making you chuckle. 

The sounds of the twins banter slowly faded as they descended the stairs of the flat down to the shoppe below. You smiled to yourself as you pried yourself off of Fred’s comfortable linens and forced yourself to get ready for your own job that awaited you.

Soon enough, the lunch hour rolled around and you were finishing helping a customer purchase a bunch of ingredients for a spell. “Have a lovely day,” you chimed as you handed her a bag full of her things.

As she left the apothecary, you exhaled deeply and arched your back, stretching the kinks in your back. Standing on your feet all day really took a lot out of you. 

The bell at the front door chimed signaling that another customer had arrived. Mindlessly, you begin speaking, “Good afternoon and welcome. Is there something I can assist you w-”

You are briskly cut off by a pair of lips on yours as you instantly melt into Fred’s touch, humming gently into your embrace. Fred pulls away with a large grin on his face. “Hi, Freddie,” you speak.

“How did you know it was me and not George,” he questions you, poking at your sides. “How do you know it’s not George right now pretending to be Fred? Huh?”

In between giggles, you manage to speak, “I know my boyfriend, Fred.” Fred halts his tickling as you smile up at him. “Besides, George has a more square jaw than you do. You also have calloused finger pads from opening boxes and George doesn’t because he carries the inventory,” you recount as Fred looked at you, quite impressed that you had little tells between him and his twin brother. “Anyway, how are sales going? Business booming?”

Fred smiles widely before you jump on the counter, Fred standing in between your legs. “Better than booming. We sold out at eleven in the morning. Nearly an hour after we opened,” Fred gushes as you gasp, pulling him in for a tight hug. You weren’t surprised that the release went well; the boys knew their demographic and always knew what the people wanted. “But that’s not all the good news, my love.”

You give your boyfriend and knowing look. “Really?” you ask as he nods. “Oh, I’m scared.”

“No need to be,” he chuckles. “I called my mum to tell her the good news and she thinks a celebration is in order. She invited us, all of us, to come home for the weekend. Everyone will be home. Me, George, Ron, Percy, Ginny, Mum, Dad. I assume that Hermione and Harry’ll be there too because bloody hell it’s not home without them. Mum even said that Bill and Fleur may stop by at one point! It’ll be a mini vacation! Isn’t that brilliant?” he beams.

But instead of cheering in glee, your heart freezes. Going to Fred’s childhood home to meet his family and his friends? Not just for dinner. For the weekend. You had no idea what to expect. You knew that Fred had a large family and he spoke highly about all of them. He told you stories of his childhood and Hogwarts and he always seemed to speak of it all with such love.

It’s not that you didn’t want to meet his family, you just didn’t want to not meet their expectations that they had for Fred. From the stories Fred and George had told you, Mrs. Weasley was very protective over her children. Especially after the war. With Fred nearly dying, she was especially careful with Fred. The last thing you wanted was to make his mother disappointed in his choice of a partner and even more terrifying, you didn’t want your beloved boyfriend’s mother hate you.

“(Y/N)? You haven’t said anything? You alright?” Fred snaps you out of your thoughts as you shake your head, bringing you back to reality. “Do you want to come home and meet my family?” he excitedly asks you, taking your hands in his as he kisses the backs of them tenderly, looking up at you hopeful for your response.

You couldn’t say no. It would break Fred’s heart. Besides, you were going to have to meet them eventually. With a deep breath, you reply, “Of course I do, Freddie love.”

Fred claps his hands together, “Wicked. Oh, this is bloody brilliant. I’ll have to run back to the shoppe and ring her and tell her to make an extra place setting for tonight.” Fred looks at you, childish joy bubbling in his eyes as you sigh softly, giving him a gentle smile. The look on his face made you fall in love with him all over again. “I can’t wait for them to meet you. They’re gonna love you,” he tells you, holding your face in between his calloused hands as you smile. “Godric, I love you,” he breathes before kissing you quickly. “Okay, I’ve got to get back to the shoppe. But after you’re done with work, go pack a bag, and meet me and George back at our flat. We’ll apparate from there!” 

And with that, Fred is out of the apothecary without another word, leaving you speechless, still sitting on the counter. As you sit there, just puzzled, your co-worker notices your predicament and laughs, “Meeting the family tonight, eh?” 

“Seems like it,” you gulp. 

-----------------------

You stood nervously in the living room of the twins’ flat, overnight bag in hand as you nervously nibbled on your fingernails. George yelled things to Fred from his bedroom as the two twins chaotically packed their bags and gathered things for their weekend stay. “Do you think we should bring our own brooms?” Fred boomed from his room.

“No,” George yelled back. “The ones that are in the shed will be just fine.”

Brooms? Should you have brought a broom? Your eyes dart to Fred who emerges from his room, duffel in hand with a large smile on his face. “Should I have brought a broom?” you ask him.

Fred laughs and shakes his head. “No, all you need to bring is your beautiful, wonderful self,” he speaks, kissing your forehead. “Georgie, let’s get this show on the road!”

“Coming, coming!” George bellows before appearing from his room, backpack on with another small bag in his hand. “Would you like to do the honors?” he smiles at Fred.

“Thought you’d never ask, brother,” he beams before pulling his wand from his pocket. “Everyone ready? Got all their things?” Fred looks at George who gives him a confident nod as you feign confidence and give Fred a small smile. “Brilliant...” he trails off before with a flick of his wand and a whoosh.

And suddenly before your eyes, you are not in the flat anymore. Instead, lush green grass is beneath your feet and the smell of rosemary and thyme floats around in the air. Ahead of you stands a proud, tall house that have Fred and George grinning from ear to ear. They were home.

Within seconds, George speaks, “Last one inside carries up all the bags!”

Fred and George are instantly set in a mad dash as you roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile. You slowly walk behind them, carrying your bag, heart beating hard against your chest. The time was now and there was no avoiding it. 

When you reach the front entrance, George looks at you, “(Y/N)! You didn’t even try!” You laugh and shake your head. “Eh, it’s fine. We’ll force Ron to carry all the luggage upstairs,” George shrugs.

Fred appears and grabs your hand, pulling you inside with a bright smile. “Mum! Dad! We’re home!” Fred calls out before chatter starts blooming from all areas of the house, making your heart race. Fred looks at your nervous eyes and squeezes your hand. “No need to worry. I’m telling you they’re going to adore you.”

First down the stairs is Ginny, the only Weasley daughter. Her eyes land on her two other brothers as she grins widely. “Look what the cat dragged in,” she laughs before George scoops her up in a tight hug, spinning her around as they both laugh wildly. George puts her down only for Fred to do the same thing to his younger sister. “I missed you both so much. Home isn’t the same without you two,” she speaks to her brothers. 

Fred pulls his sister into his side, “We missed you too. Everyday we miss you, little.” Ginny smiles up at her brother. “Gin, this is my girlfriend, (Y/N). (Y/N), meet the littlest Weasley, Ginny.”

“I may be the littlest, but I’ll still kick both of your asses,” Ginny pushes her brother teasingly. Ginny smiles at you widely. “I’ve heard all about you. And by all about you I mean I’ve heard what Fred tells Mum who tells me,” she laughs as you smile. “Can I give you a hug?” she asks.

You smile, “Absolutely.” Ginny embraces you tightly as you smile widely. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Fred and George speak so highly of you.”

Ginny pulls away from her embrace and speaks, “They better.” You laugh. She had the same sense of humors as her brothers. “Your accent is so pretty. Well, I mean, all of you is pretty. Gorgeous, actually. Well done, Fred!” Ginny compliments, making Fred blush a deep crimson. “You could probably do much better than him, you know that?” she teases, making you laugh. You and Ginny would get along just fine.

“Alright, enough of all that,” Fred grabs your hand, pulling you away from Ginny. 

Shortly after Ginny’s arrival follows bumbling footsteps and a voice that says, “Full house already! Bill and Fleur haven’t even arrived. I’m not giving up my bed for anyone, hear me?” George immediately tackles the Weasley brother to the floor, making him cry out. “George, get the bloody hell off of me, you git!”

George laughs, “Aw, I missed you too, Won-Won!”

Fred bursts out into laughter before George climbs off of the tackled brother. “Hey, Ronald,” Fred messes up his brothers hair as Ron shakes his head with a smile. “Missed you.”

Ron smiles at his brothers, “Missed you both too. Although the tackle wasn’t appreciated.” Ron glares at George who gives him a firm pat on the back. “You must be (Y/N),” Ron smiles warmly at you extending his hand for a shake. “Really nice to meet you.”

“You too. Didn’t realize that it was customary for your brothers to attack you when returning home,” you laugh as Ron shakes his head. 

“Neither did I. Every day is a surprise here,” he huffs. “One second, pardon me,” he excuses himself. “’Mione! Fred’s girlfriend is here!” Ron calls up the stairs. “Gin and ‘Mione have been dying for another girl in the house for forever. She’ll be happy to see you.”

You smile at Ron, “Always good to have more girls. Gotta balance out the playing field.” 

As soon as you say that, who you can assume is Hermione along with another boy with jet black hair comes down the stairs, of which you can assume is Harry Potter. Ron was right about Hermione, she was over the moon to have another girl in the house. To quote her, she said, “Thank Godric. Do you know what’s it’s like living with mostly boys? Do you know how many times I’ve almost fall into the toilet because the seat was still up? Too many times, Ronald Weasley!” 

Harry on the other hand was much more soft-spoken, but equally as witty as Ron and Hermione. Again, making a comment based on how you were way out of Fred’s league. “Merlin, Fred, how do you do it?” Harry said. “(Y/N), blink once if you need help,” Harry joked, making Ron and Ginny crack up. You, of course, played along with the joke, blinking three times, making the friends laugh harder.

“Okay, okay, enough of that,” Fred pulls you away. “Percy! Mate!”

Coming from outside was who you assumed was Percy alongside Mr. Weasley. Both of them in work clothes, covered in dirt and such, from working outside. “Freddie! George!” Percy beams before engulfing his two brothers in bear hugs. The sight made your heart warm. The love that this family had for each other was enough to make you melt. “Great to see you again. You’re (Y/N), right? Lovely to meet you. So glad you could come over for the weekend!” Percy shakes your hand excitedly as you smile.

“I’m glad to be here!” you admit, now truthfully. Everyone was so lovely and warm.  Percy steps away so now Mr. Weasley could meet you. “Mr. Weasley, thank you so much for having me. I’m so delighted to meet you and your family,” you beam.

Mr. Weasley gives you the warmest smile you’ve ever seen and grabs one of your hands squeezing it. “We are even more delighted to have you as a guest in our home. Oh, and please don’t call me Mr. Weasley. Arthur is just fine,” he smiles. “Speaking of our home, where is your mother?” Arthur looks the the rest of the group as they shrug. “Molly! Your sons and their guest have arrived!!” Arthur bellows up the stairs.

Seconds later, a glowing older woman starts down the winding staircase in the middle of the home, beaming, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I was making their bed with fresh sheets. Now where are my loves?” Mrs. Weasley looks at her twins and tears start to form in her eyes. “Oh, my babies!” she exclaims as Fred and George engulf their shorter mother in a tight hug. “You boys don’t come home enough. I know the business is doing great, but please come home more. We miss you dearly,” she pinches their cheeks lovingly as George kisses his mother’s cheek.

Fred starts, “We miss you, too, Mum. Always.” Mrs. Weasley smiles at her son. “Mum, this is my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

Within mere seconds, Mrs. Weasley has scooped you into a hug, squeezing you tight as you giggle at the gesture. “Oh, my dear, it’s so wonderful to meet you at last. I can’t believe Freddie was hiding you from me all this time,” she gushes before holding you at arm’s length. “Beautiful American thing you are! Goodness, Fred, well done!” Fred rolls his eyes, making you giggle.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Weasley,” you smile warmly at your boyfriend’s mother.

She instantly starts shaking her head, “Oh no, dear. My name is Molly. Not Mrs. Weasley. Please, I insist.” You smile at her with a small blush on your cheeks. It had only been ten minutes, but you felt more at home than ever. “You are just a peach!” she pinches your cheek. “Adorable. You hungry, dear? Cuppa tea? I have dinner in the oven. We’re having roast chicken. Freddie told me that was your favorite meal. Lucky for you, it’s the dish I’m best at,” she whispers the last part to you as you giggle.

This family was doing everything they could to make you feel at home and it was surely working. You felt like you belonged here. Molly linked your arms together, insisting you tell her everything you and Fred had been doing as a couple for the last three months as she made you a cup of tea. “Mum’s already stolen her,” George nudges his twin with a cocky smile. “Good luck trying to get her back.”

But you didn’t mind being stolen off by Molly Weasley. The woman was a delight. She was sweet, kind, and so thoughtful. Molly loved hearing the way you spoke of her son. “You speak of him like he’s the only man on this planet,” she coos as she poured you tea. 

You blush a wild shade of pink. Maybe you had to get used to blushing around the Weasley family. “He’s the only man on this planet for me,” you shrug. “Fred is a proper gentleman, Molly. Really.” Molly rolls her eyes, knowing how abrasive her own son could be. “No, seriously,” you laugh. “All of the boys that I’ve dated are all back in America, sure, but none can hold a candle to Fred. Honestly.”

Molly squeezes your hand, “And I hope it stays that way, my dear. The way that Fred speaks of you is unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him before. Hold onto each other. What you have already is worth it.”

“Thank you,” you squeeze Molly’s hand back. 

The dinner hour soon rolled around which meant the arrival of more Weasleys. As everyone was finding their seat, two more people apparated into the Burrow. “Bill!” Ron exclaimed before engulfing his brother in a hug. Bill stood tall next to a beautiful blonde haired woman who you assume to be his wife, Fleur. The couple was breathtakingly beautiful. 

Fred leaned down next to you. “That’s Bill and his wife, Fleur,” Fred confirmed your thoughts. “Fleur is part Veela. She has a...complicated relationship with my mother and Ginny. But no need to worry, that ship has sailed. She’s actually quite lovely,” Fred tells you as you nod.

Knowing that Molly Weasley didn’t instantly take a liking to everyone made you think about the initial reaction she had to you. It made you feel better how warm she was towards you, even though you wouldn’t wish coldness from the Weasleys on anyone. 

“Bill, Fleur, this is my girlfriend, (Y/N),” Fred introduces you to his brother and his wife. 

Bill shakes your hand with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you,” he beams. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Bill teased his brother.

“Keeping me a secret, eh?” you look at Fred.

“An American girlfriend! Oh, this is brilliant,” Bill laughs. “Looking forward to getting to know you,” he speaks.

You turn to Bill’s wife, Fleur who gives you a small smile. “Nice to see another girl in the ‘ouse,” she beams. “You are quite beautiful,” Fleur beams as you blush yet again. But this time it felt different. A Veela complimenting you on your beauty. “’ow did you manage to get ‘er, Fred?” Fleur keeps the teasing going as he groans.

“Bloody hell, I get it! My girlfriend is gorgeous, and American, and out of my league! Are we eating dinner?” Fred tries to change the subject which just makes everyone else laugh.

Dinner was divine. Molly really knew how to cook and boy, did she make a feast. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, gravy, bread and chocolate cake for desert. Fred had told his mother what you’re favorite foods were and she gladly obliged to making all of them to which you thanked her profusely for. 

Ron leaned back in his seat as the dishes were being magically cleaned. “You should come over more, (Y/N),” he rubs his belly, full of dinner, making you laugh.

Ginny sprung from her seat, pulling Harry up with her. “Well, digest quickly, Ron. The sun is setting and George promised me a game of quidditch before nightfall,” Ginny smirks at her older brother who groans.

“Quidditch? After this meal? What are you trying to do, Gin? Make me have a heart attack?” he complains. “Why can’t we do a morning game?”

“Cause you always sleep through morning matches!” Harry defends Ginny who smiles proudly at him. “Get your lazy arse up and get a broom!”

Harry, Ginny, Fred, George, Ron, and Bill all rise from the table and rush to the garden shed to grab brooms. You just laugh along with Fleur and Hermione at the table before you three rise from the table, walking outside to watch the game that would eventually descend into madness. 

Hermione runs ahead of you and Fleur and to the backyard, calling out, “I’ll be score keep!” 

Fleur turns to you and smiles, “’Ow are you feeling? I know the feeling of meeting the family for the first time. Although, I think you and I ‘ad different experiences.”

You give Fleur a knowing smile. “They’re a lovely family. I was very nervous to come here because I didn’t know how they would react to have a complete stranger in their house, but they’re really great. Freddie was right.”

Fleur links your arms together as you walk to a small clearing in the backyard as the lot before you hops on brooms and takes to the skies. “I know I ‘ave my ‘istory with the Weasleys, but they are very good people. Kind people. Genuine. And I know, Fred. I saw the way ‘e looked at you at dinner. The boy loves you very much. And being loved by a Weasley,” she looks up at her husband, laughing on a broom as he pats Freddie’s shoulder, “it’s the greatest feeling in the world. ‘old onto ‘im, (Y/N).”

Your heart swells at Fleur’s words. It was beautiful to see the way she spoke of Bill. How she looked at him. You could only wish that you had that kind of love with Fred. “Thank you, Fleur. That means a lot,” you squeeze her hand. 

The two of you look to the sky to see the lot waiting. “Are you all going to start this game or not? I wanna see some action!” you tease those in the sky as Fleur giggles next to you. “You gonna win for me, Freddie?” you give him a wink.

Fred scoffs, “Of course I am.”

The quidditch game had ended quite quickly after a brief thirty minute game, Harry catching the snitch with ease. “That’s what happens when you challenge the best quidditch player of this generation,” he sticks his tongue out at Ginny who rolls her eyes and shoves her boyfriend inside.

“Wonder what happens if I beat up the best quidditch player of all time,” Ginny speaks as Harry laughs before running up the stairs away from his girlfriend who had just lost the quidditch match.

As the group files back in again, Bill and Fleur make their way upstairs back to his old room. Ron and Hermione scramble into the living room, Hermione challenging Ron to a chess match, giggling as Ron places a sneaky kiss on her cheek, George throwing playful punches at Fred who slaps his bum, running away as George yells at him. Percy, who sits in the recliner groans, “Can you be any louder? I’m trying to read!”

George looks at Fred who has a devilish smile on his cheeks. “Be louder? Alright!” Fred exclaims before he and George link arms and start scream singing a random song that came to their heads, making you shake your head and laugh. 

Percy just leans further back into his chair with a sigh, but there is a small smile on his face as he watches his twin brothers, dance around the living room, occasionally letting a chuckle out here and there. 

You sit on the couch, observing it all take place. To an outside eye, the Weasley house looked chaotic. But really, it was perfectly orchestrated. Everyone had their own thing to do, but still interacted and operated alongside each other without fail. Ron and Hermione quietly playing cheer in the corner, little giggles here and there. Percy reading a book, curled up in the corner. Ginny and Harry running up and down the stairs, in and out of the house. Bill and Fleur upstairs, getting ready for bed. Molly in the kitchen, cleaning up before getting ready to retire to her bedroom where Arthur was surely waiting after finishing the garden work. Fred and George acting like fools in the living room, babbling about the shoppe. The house was like an orchestra, each person playing their part that was very different from the others, but they all clicked together to make beautiful music.

Beside you on the couch, Fred sits and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “First day at the Burrow. How are you liking it?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You cup his cheek with your hand, brushing your thumb against it. “It’s perfect here. I can see why you love it so much,” you admit as he smiles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “Your family is so sweet. I really adore them already.”

“And they adore you. Mum especially. She was gushing to Dad about you over dinner whilst you talked to Ginny and Harry,” Fred confides in you as your heart swells. His family liking you was all that mattered. “You’re smashing it. But I knew you would,” he shrugs as you giggle. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Kissing his lips gently, you speak, “I’m glad I came.”

----

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff​ @harrysweasleys​ @gcdric​ @lumos-barnes​ @whizboingies​ @lumosandnoxwriting​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops​ @vogueweasley​

[helnjk]

Stitching Together - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader 

Requested: yes !! by my lovely bean marissa @lumos-barnes

please accept my humble request for a george x reader where the reader owns a shop in diagon alley and one day they walk into WWW and george knocks over a whole display, he is a complete SIMP & cannot compose himself. complete buffoonery when the reader is near. they become friends & do all these nice things for each other and the reader is oblivious like "george, i'm so lucky to be your friend" (even though the reader is secretly simping) and he's like "um what, i'm literally in love with you"

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of meals and drinks (coffee), but other than that it’s just pure fluff & Dumb Idiots In Love

A/N: somehow i always end up writing george knitting? idk how it happened, but it happened. i hope you like it marissa 🥺💕

–

You took a step back to admire your handiwork. 

After what seemed like neverending hours, the layout of your shop was finally perfect. From where you stood, you had a view of the streets of Diagon Alley, several passersby coming and goings from your sight. The display of charmed knit work by the window was already moving, demonstrating simple stitches that formed into a scarf. 

It had always been your dream to open up your own shop in the most prominent wizarding area of Britain, with your passion for knitting and crafting, but the timing had always been off. Now, about a year or so since the war had ended, your grandmother surprised you with the capital to make your dreams come true. 

The gesture was extra special because she was the one who first taught you how to knit. Many summers were spent in her cottage, sitting side by side and working on personal projects together. 

Outside, your sign read ‘Stitching Together: Grand Opening’. There were a few flyers posted right on the door and on the window advertising the different classes and crafting groups you were offering, as well as the different products that could be found in your store. 

It was as if your heart could burst at the sight of your fully furnished shop and you could wait no longer. With a flick of your wand, the sign on the door flipped to say open and that was that. 

–

“Hey Freddie, have you seen that new shop that’s opened down the street?” George yelled from the bottom of the stairs once the last customer of the day made their leave. 

“Haven’t gone in, but it’s gotten a lot of customers from what I can tell!” the disembodied voice of his twin replied from somewhere above. 

As he began the process of cleaning up and reshelving, products floating in midair or zooming towards their proper shelves, he called out once more, “What type of store is it d’you reckon?” 

“Arts and crafts? Something like that.” 

George’s eyes drifted towards the shop window, where he could just barely see the outline of the new store. Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was filled with brilliant hues of purple and orange. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided that he would go welcome the new shop owner to Diagon Alley. 

With a shout to let his twin know where he was off to, George strode out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and into the brisk weather. Luckily for him, Stitching Together was still open. He could see you bustling around inside, fixing displays and swishing your wand to tidy everything up.

It had only been around a month since your shop had opened, but the local wizard folk of London seemed to be very keen on buying the different things you sold. Many came around to purchase the instructional books and the different kinds of wool and yarn, and some of your regulars had even taken an interest in the classes you held weekly. It was a great way for you to get to know the community and to establish friendships. 

You had always taken note of the joke shop a few shops down from you, but with the hustle and bustle of just opening, you hadn’t had a chance to visit or introduce yourself to the owners. It was just your luck that one half of them pushed open the door to your shop, the little bell at the top of it ringing to indicate his presence. 

“Oh, hello!” you smiled, turning to face the redheaded man, “Welcome to Stitching Together, what could I help you with?” 

Unbeknownst to George, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. How could a man be so positively handsome you didn’t know, but at the sight of him standing by the door, all you could think about was how gorgeous he was. And he hadn’t even uttered a single word yet! 

The charming smile he sent your way did not help the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “Just popping by to say hello and welcome to Diagon Alley! My twin and I run Wheezes just down the street,” he said. 

Your smile grew as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Oh I was just thinking about how I’ve been wanting to pay your shop a visit! I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“George Weasley at your service,” his hand was firm and warm as he shook yours, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Nice to meet you!” 

“So tell me about your shop!” 

Somehow, after that evening, George Weasley snuck his way into becoming a part of your daily routine.

Every morning he would show up with two cups of coffee in hand right before your shop was set to open. After realizing that you depended on caffeine to function throughout your day, he made it a point to bring you one everyday. As you sipped on your coffees, the two of you would spend a few minutes chatting about your plans for the day before going to work. 

Whenever you would offer to pay for your own cup or even try to insinuate that you could get your own coffee in the morning, just so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble, he would stop you in your tracks.

“But George–”

“Nope!” he would say in a voice louder than yours. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I really feel for your customers who have to deal with a Y/N that hasn’t had her coffee fix. Could you imagine the grumpiness? Not on my watch!” 

You would roll your eyes, but secretly it warmed your heart how sweet this boy could be. He was slowly inching his way into your life and becoming a great friend. 

–

“So,” said Fred one day as George had gotten back from delivering your daily coffee, “The bird from the knitting shop, huh?” 

His twin only rolled his eyes in response, used to the teasing that came with being brothers (and twins) with Fred Weasley. Instead of engaging, George went instead to do the routine last check over their store before they officially opened their doors. Still, Fred couldn’t resist the temptation to continue provoking him. 

“Oi! C’mon, you bring her coffee everyday even if you don’t like the stuff. If I don’t remind you that you have a store to run, you would spend the whole day staring out the window just to catch a glimpse of the girl! Tell me you’re not whipped for her,” he teased, following George through the shop.

From their position at the till and on the second floor, both Verity and Lee tried to hide their smirks. This was too good a story to not eavesdrop on. 

“Come off it, Fred.” George rolled his eyes. “I’m just being a good friend, that’s all!” 

“Yeah but you wouldn’t mind being more than friends.” 

The cheeky wink Fred sent George was not appreciated, as the prior soon found out, having to duck away from a stinging hex. Still, Fred’s laugh rang through the semi-empty store as he ran away from his brother. 

Later in the day, as the lunch crowd tapered off, the four of them were left to mull around a bit. Lee and Verity were off taking stock in the back room, Fred was doing some accounting (because his twin couldn’t be trusted with any sort of math), and George was reshelving some Skiving Snackboxes. 

The bell above the door to the shop rang, but he couldn’t quite tell who came in from his position towards the back of the shop. 

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he yelled, rushing to get all the boxes in order before he could help the new customer, “I’ll be with you in just a second!” 

Just as he admired his handiwork, eyes scanning the display to make sure nothing was out of place, a familiar voice called from behind him, “It’s alright, take your time. I’m not looking for anything in particular.” 

George almost jumped out of his skin as he heard your voice. He was so surprised that as he turned to meet you, his elbow caught on the edge of one of the Snackboxes and the whole thing toppled over. 

You watched as the tower of boxes crumbled around him, and your hand automatically covered your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. It didn’t work, though, and soon the whole store could hear your guffaws. 

Thankfully, George was a wizard, and what would’ve taken a muggle quite some time to fix, only took a quick flick of his wand. 

“Oops,” you smiled at him bashfully as he finished, “Didn’t mean to startle you, Weasley.”

“Erm, it-it’s alright,” he blushed, “I just didn’t expect you to come ‘round today.” 

In truth, the reason why George was so flustered at your appearance at his shop was because he had just spent most of the afternoon thinking about you. He often did that, getting lost in his thoughts about the many little things that made you, well, you. The deep breath you took before that first sip of coffee in the morning, revelling in the aroma. How your face lit up when you spoke about the different people you met in your classes. Your hands and how skillfully they worked whatever project you were creating at the moment. 

He wouldn’t admit it to Fred, but what his twin had said earlier in the day was accurate. He was absolutely smitten over you. 

“Well you’ve been a regular over at mine for the last couple of weeks, I’m just returning the favor and visiting my favorite redhead at his place of work!” 

“I-I,” he stuttered, his brain refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was your favorite anything. 

Fred, who had heard the commotion and had gone down to check if everything was okay, nearly face palmed as he watched George fumble through his words. The man was whipped for you, no doubt about it, and as a good twin, he decided to save his brother from further humiliation. 

“I think what my lovely twin here is trying to say, is that you just haven’t met enough redheads to make your decision about your favorite one,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Fred Weasley, at your service!” 

Your smile immediately brightened at the sight of George’s twin holding out his hand for you to shake, “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N, George’s told me loads about you!” 

“Has he?” Fred raised his eyebrow, turning to look at George who was still a little dumbstruck at the sight of you in his shop. “Well, that just means it’s my turn to spend some time with such a lovely lady. C’mon, I’ll give you a tour of the shop!”

“Oh I’d love that.” 

With a small glance and wave at George, you took the arm that Fred was holding out for you, and so began his (largely amusing) tour of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“What in Merlin’s name was that!” yelled Fred the moment you left the shop. 

George groaned into his hands, embarrassment creeping back into him. He had acted a fool, unable to even mutter a single sentence to you the whole time you were around. 

“Mate, I have never seen you so flustered around a girl,” his twin muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just tell her you’ve got feelings for her! Ask her on a date, do something! From what I could tell, you’re not the only one who’s caught feelings.” 

“It’s not like that between us,” he said, “I doubt she even notices how much I fancy her.” 

–

Somehow, George wound up taking Fred’s advice. Though, in typical-George fashion, he never explicitly mentioned to you anything about the way he felt. 

Instead, he would stay around your shop longer in the mornings, taking slower than usual sips of his coffee (which he still couldn’t say he preferred over a good cup of tea). Other days, he would come around closing time and help put everything back in order and if he was lucky, the two of you would go out to dinner. Of course, he would also never let you pay a sickle for your meal, no matter how much you insisted. 

Weekends were usually spent together as well. 

Saturdays were for brunch and muggle films on the telly. It was one of the rare occasions he would drink a beverage in front of you that wasn’t that (god forsaken) coffee. 

Sundays were more for crafting together. He would floo into your flat after having lunch with his family and the two of you would continue working on his little project. 

“My mum loves to knit,” he mentioned one day, while he observed your quick hands skillfully moving the thread through your needles. “She knits us all sweaters for Christmas. It’s become a tradition of sorts.” 

“That’s lovely,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, anyone who’s practically family gets one too. Like Harry and Hermione,” he mused.

“I could teach you how to knit her something, if you wanted,” you offered. “It’d be something pretty simple though, especially if you’ve never knitted anything before.”

The smile he sent you was so dazzling, you had to take a moment. You were practically melting under his tender gaze and you swallowed thickly, trying to gain your composure. 

 “That’d be bloody brilliant, Y/N!” 

You only hoped he didn’t notice how your face got hot and how your hands couldn’t move the needles to do what you wanted, too flustered to be precise with your movements.

Since then, the two of you spent most of Sunday afternoons making sure George had the correct strings of yarn on the correct needle. You would keep a close eye on him and his progress, but most of the time he was alright on his own. Sometimes, he would purposely sit closer to you on your couch and you could practically feel the warmth radiating from him. 

In between knits, your eyes would drift towards his focused face and you would smile. George had a habit of poking the tip of his tongue out when he was knitting. Something about the gesture helped him concentrate, and you found it absolutely adorable.

The more time you spent together, though, the more confused George got. It was getting to a point where in his head, it was impossible to miss what he was trying to say with his actions. You had to have caught on by now. And, since you hadn’t acknowledged what was going on between the two of you, he had assumed that this was your polite way of rejecting him.  

On a chilly morning, he clutched the warm cups of coffee in his hands as he pushed the door to Stitching Together open with his back. 

“Morning, Y/N!” he greeted.

You grinned in his direction as he made his way towards you. The moment he placed the warm drink in your hands and you took your first sip, a small moan of gratefulness escaped your lips.

“Merlin, I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled to your cup. 

“Sorry?” George asked, brows furrowed slightly. 

“Oh nothing!” you quickly said, “I’m just really glad you’re my friend, Georgie.” 

Friend. 

The word seemed to make his heart sink down to his stomach and ignite something in him at the same time. It was time that he told you how he felt, no matter what would happen afterwards. He couldn’t keep going on pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you. 

“Erm, about that Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his work uniform, “I’ve got to tell you something.” 

It was now or never. 

You smiled up at him encouragingly, almost oblivious to the bundle of nerves that were most definitely visible in his expression. 

“I-I don’t want to be just friends, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in anticipation.

“What do you want then?” you still didn’t understand what he was trying to say. 

In a burst of confidence, George took your hands in his and gripped them tightly, “I want to be with you. I fancy you loads, I think I might even be in love with you, Y/N. Honestly, I might’ve been in love with you from the moment I first walked into your shop.” 

Your lack of an immediate response left him to back track, “But I understand completely if you don’t feel the same way, I just wanted to get it out there.” 

For a moment, the two of you were silent. George eyed you nervously, wondering what was going on through your head, bracing himself for the rejection that he thought was on the tip of your tongue. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, “Y/N? Do you want me to go?” 

Instead of answering, you flung your arms around his neck. He was so startled at your sudden gesture that he almost didn’t notice your lips on his. Almost. 

As suddenly as you had kissed him, all of his apprehensions melted away. Almost automatically, his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. Your lips melted together seamlessly. It was as if this was where the two of you were meant to be, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. 

Sooner than you had liked, George pulled away from you slightly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but dip his head down to peck your lips again. Once, twice, three times. This left you a giggly mess, your nose scrunching up in a way that was practically begging him to kiss it as well. 

“Does that mean you fancy me too?” he murmured against your lips. 

“Absolutely, head over heels,” you smiled in return. 

The pair of you spent a brief moment with your foreheads pressed together, giddy smiles on your faces. That was until a knock on the door of your shop sounded. Immediately, you sprung apart, a blush coating tip of George’s ears and cheeks. 

A few people stood outside, eyeing you amusedly. 

“Oh shit,” you said, hurrying to flip the sign on the door to say ‘open’ and to unlock the door with a flick of your wand. “I completely forgot I had a class today.” 

As the small group of people began to file inside, they sent knowing glances your way to which you only groaned softly and looked up at George.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked hopefully. 

With a kiss to your cheek and a mischievous grin he said, “You can count on it, love.” 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies @pineapplesandpinas @papapapadumb @Mrs-g-weasley @a-castle-of--glass @hey-there-angels @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic @werewolfslut @surprizeshawtyy

crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry!

[green-socks]

Endless Nights

Pairing: Benny Miller x gn!reader (no descriptions or pronouns)

Summary: You and Benny can't seem to get enough of each other's company. Could tonight be the night you find the courage to do something about that crush?

Words: 2,101

Warnings: Nudity but not the sexual kind, food/eating. Almost zero editing and a tired writer.

Notes: I don't always participate in Writer Wednesday, but when I do I take one look at the picture, get an idea and then go completely off the rails. Sorry. So the pic doesn't really have a lot to do with the rest of the fic but I hope that's okay. For this week's @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday, thanks for organizing it every week!

I had the idea for midnight shopping at the supermarket with Benny and then realized I didn't want the night to end there... So it didn't. I actually like this piece, even if it probably suffered a lot from my fast writing and non-existent editing. Reader is mentioned having shorter legs than Benny but other than that I think there are no descriptions or pronouns used of reader, lmk if I'm wrong.

MASTERLIST

You and Benny have been driving around aimlessly for a couple of hours already, taking turns in picking the music, and talking about this and that while sometimes falling into a companionable silence. It still amazes you how easy and comfortable everything is with him. You have never felt like this with a crush before, used to the feeling of always obsessing over what you felt like you could and couldn’t say or do, or spending a lot of time and energy into trying to figure out what the other thought.

No, with Benny you don’t have to pretend anything or force yourself to keep the conversation running in fear of those horrid awkward silences, because both of you know that you can talk for hours on end when the mood strikes. You met through mutual friends only a few weeks ago, but the connection was clearly there. As was the obvious mutual attraction.

Strictly speaking, though, you and Benny are just friends. Nothing has ever really happened to indicate otherwise in any case. But friends don’t usually try this hard to find any excuse just to hang out, nor do you stay up late every night talking to your other friends. And when you hang out in a group you always seem to gravitate towards one another. What’s more, somehow it always seems to be just the two of you left at the end of the night, often not even noticing the others leave.

Your interactions always border on the line of obvious flirting with your touches and already formed inside jokes, but neither of you ever dare do anything that couldn’t be brushed off as innocent behavior between friends. You guess you’re both just kind of scared to take the leap - you have been burned before, and so has he.

It’s not that you doubt your own feelings for Benny, or indeed his feelings for you. Even you have to admit that he does seem pretty interested in you, but you still wave away your friends’ squeals of “he’s totally in love with you!”, mainly not wanting to get your hopes up too much.

Because a small part of you still finds it a little hard to believe; someone so handsome and funny and kind wanting to be with you? What if he likes you, but just not as much as you like him? What if you were just a second choice for someone you really like until something better comes along - again? That scares you, both of you.

Tonight has been like many other nights lately; you had been to the movies with some of your friends, but after the movie ended you had been grasping at straws to come up with a way to continue the night so they (Benny) wouldn’t go home just yet. Benny had helpfully suggested just driving around and seeing if any ideas came to mind.

Santiago in turn had rolled his eyes at you two knowingly (making both you and Benny fluster and try to fake complete nonchalance) before saying good night and leaving with the others, who apparently didn’t feel the compulsive need to continue spending time together.

--------

The sun has gone down already but you two are still enjoying each other’s company too much to go home yet.

You end up in the 24/7 supermarket parking lot, craving a midnight snack. You are reminded of your teenage years, when you used to hang around different parking lots, popping into the store to buy a soda or a candy bar, spending all day outside with friends.

The only other customers doing their midnight shopping are tired people just off their shifts or young people staying up late just for the hell of it, much like you and Benny are, in fact. You wander around the huge store together, pointing out different products you’d like to try and reviewing stuff one of you already has tried.

Before long you realize that you have already spent almost forty minutes idly wandering around the supermarket, collecting new soda or chip flavors to test. Neither of you thought to grab a basket at the entrance, so your arms are starting to get a bit full.

“Benny, do you think this might be enough?” you ask while struggling to maintain your hold on the different bags of chips.

Benny looks back at you from where he is pondering over whether to get some ice cream. “Huh, I guess. I do still wanna get a sandwich, though!” he exclaims and promptly takes off in the direction of the deli counter where they sell sandwiches and salads left over from the day.

You try to keep up with his long strides, certain that you must look a bit comical half-running after a man with your hands full of treats. Oh, well. Benny often complains about how much focus it requires of him to “modify his steps” to fit your much shorter legs, and he always forgets about it when he gets excited.

When you catch up with him, he has already picked a sandwich for himself and one for you. “I got you salmon, that’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah, thanks!” you say a little breathlessly after your speed-walk, taken that he remembers.

As you finally get to the cash register and start loading your stuff in your bag you see Benny sneak one more candy bar among the rest of your purchases. For someone in such good physical shape he sure does like his candy.

“Where to next?” Benny inquires as you get back to the car.

“Hmm, how about this one waterfront type swimming spot? It’s pretty secluded, has a pier, and there’s a nice view to the sea. I sometimes like to sit there on the cliffs to watch the sun go down,” you suggest, and offer him directions to the place.

It’s a short drive and you show Benny where to park his car. Even though it’s somewhere around 1 a.m. and the sun went down hours ago, the night is still light enough that you can easily see where you’re going and it doesn’t feel like you’re just sitting in the dark.

You settle down on the small pier with your sandwiches and sodas and chips and munch away happily.

Benny hands you the candy bar you saw him grab earlier at the cash register “for dessert”. It has a cheesy text on the packaging about giving this to someone special. He grins and shrugs, “I know you love these”.

It’s such a simple gesture but you can’t help feeling really flattered and even more smitten with him than you already were. You don’t read too much into the text on the packaging, but even the fact that he would buy you a candy bar he knows you love - just because - warms your heart.

(What you don’t know is that the candy bars have lots of different texts to choose from, and that Benny specifically picked “give this to someone special” instead of “give this to a friend”. There was also “give this to someone you love”, but Benny worried that might scare you off.)

--------

After you’re both done with snacking you try to think of what to do next, still reluctant to pronounce this night to be over, you get an idea.

“You know what I would really like to do right now?” you ask Benny, looking out over the water that looks so tempting. “Go swim,” you announce, turning to look at him.

“You don’t have a swimsuit with you, do you?” Benny asks, turning to look at you too.

“No… But there’s no one here,” you point out with your eyebrows raised in challenge.

Benny looks at you for a few beats with a blank expression on his face, before shrugging “Alright,” and throwing off his hoodie and t-shirt, jeans following next. “What are you waiting for?” he shouts over his shoulder as he jumps from the pier into the water.

You’re left sitting there with your mouth open, blinking rapidly as you try to catch up with the fast turn of events. Shaking your head, you stand up and shrug off your clothes before quickly running after Benny and getting into the refreshing water.

The night is still warm, and the water feels wonderful. You swim to catch up with Benny.

“You know, it’s pretty dark here but I’ve basically seen you naked now,” he remarks, waggling his eyebrows, and you snort with laughter.

“Benny, you’re not allowed to make me laugh in the water or I’ll drown,” you try to say sternly.

“Oh sweetheart, I wouldn’t let you drown,” he answers in a surprisingly serious voice.

Suddenly the energy between you is full of.. something. Something new and buzzing, sort of scary but also exciting. Something you can’t quite explain. You’re swimming around each other, looking at each other intently, but not daring to say anything that would break the moment and burst the bubble.

Someone else does that for you.

A couple of teenage girls, you’d guess around 18 years old, stumble on to the pier and immediately notice you two in the water. The other girl lets out a shriek and tightens her hold on the towel around her, and before you can even try to reassure them that everything is fine, they run off giggling and shrieking some more. Evidently, they had had the same idea for a nighttime swim but found the place already occupied.

“Yeahhhh, maybe we should put some clothes on before someone calls the police,” Benny suggests dryly.

You two climb out of the water giggling and grinning broadly. You don’t have any towels with you since you didn’t exactly plan this impromptu skinny-dipping session, but Benny gives you his hoodie to help keep you warm.

Sitting back down next to Benny you’re even closer together now than earlier, ever so slowly inching closer and closer to each other. Both of you think you could pass it off as huddling for warmth if the other were to question it, but somehow you know that won’t be an issue.

Soon enough you’re snuggling together on the waterfront overlooking the sea. You stay quietly like that for some time, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more. It’s hard to tell when the world is so still and quiet around you.

Suddenly you think that this is it, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. In all honesty you sort of enjoy the pining stage of new relationships, but right now you feel like you might burst if you keep these feelings inside you any longer.

You turn and burrow your head into the crook of his neck and decide that you will have to take the leap now. You start pressing gentle kisses on his neck and hear Benny’s breath hitch at the first contact of your lips on his skin. He goes still as a statue, but you can feel more than hear his unsteady breathing at your actions. You’re practically vibrating with nervous excitement as you work your way up to his jaw and towards his lips.

Taking one final deep breath you close your eyes, not daring to look at Benny in the eye right now, as you bring your lips to meet his.

The kiss is sweet and unhurried, and yet your head is swimming and your whole body is buzzing with it as you melt into each other. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, which just proves that everything really is different - better - with Benny. You pull away when you find yourself quickly out of breath just from feeling so much.

You finally dare to open your eyes to find Benny gazing at you with a dazed expression that surely mirrors your own and you slowly beam at each other, not feeling the need for words just now. Maybe you couldn’t even find them if you tried.

You settle back against his chest and the two of you stay like that for the rest of the night, sometimes spending long moments just kissing each other, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes just enjoying each other’s presence.

--------

Around five in the morning, when the sun is already getting up, you finally start to really feel the need for sleep. But this time it doesn’t feel wrong to leave and go home, since you’ll be going home together.

Later that day you wake up to a good morning, sweetheart in Benny’s arms where you fell asleep on his couch, tired but happier than you’ve ever felt in your life.

[traincat]

I know the comic piracy debate is a never-ending cycle, but in India where I live, you can't get western comics (or manga for that matter). There aren't comic book stores. Sometimes on Amazon you can find collected editions worth more than INR 1000 at least, for the paperbacks. Most older collections, even from the early 2000s, will be upwards of INR 6000. And sure, it's because the exchange value is so low for Indian rupees, but that's still a LOT of money to Indian citizens. You can get digital editions of random odd issues for approx. INR 150, so that's there. But overall it's really a huge investment to buy a physical comic. So yes, I pirate. But I get so guilty when this debate rolls around, every time. I just don't see any other alternative.

I debated whether or not to answer this considering I haven't really addressed the comics piracy issue before so I'm not sure I'm the right account to talk about it, and also because my askbox is not a confessional and I am not a priest, but then some Spider-Man news broke that I feels ties into it this so whatever, we're going for it. The comics piracy debate comes up every couple of months and will probably continue to come up every couple of months until forever and all of these points have been stated before by others because nothing in this debate is new. First things first, you shouldn't feel guilty. I'm going to suggest actually that nobody should feel guilty, unless you are like, a millionaire and you're exclusively pirating indie books. The prices you're quoting are prohibitively expensive but I have some unfortunate news for everyone involved: the prices are really bad in the US, too. If you want good collected editions, especially in hardcover, they're going to run at similar if not quite equal prices. Comics have gone from a cheap hobby to an overwhelmingly expensive hobby.

This is a good article comparing to the cover costs of American comics since the 1960s adjusted for inflation which I think puts some things in perspective. Comics currently cost roughly $5 USD per issue, which doesn't sound that bad, even though most of my monthly streaming services are roughly that price for a whole month's access to a library of content. But it only doesn't sound that bad if you're not buying special issues (the Marvel Pride book retailed for $10), and if you're only reading one or two books a month. The problem is, American superhero comics are specifically designed so you're not reading just one or two books per month -- this is why we have events! And crossovers! Not for the story potential but because it forces the consumer to purchase more product. This is why there's constantly an event running with a checklist of tie-in issues in the back. So now you're spending probably at least $20 a month. If you're a fan with a lot of interest in different titles, and in different publishers, this can easily hit triple USD digits. It's a money pit. It's not affordable to most people. And this is where that new Spider-Man news comes in, because it was announced today that Amazing Spider-Man is going back to a thrice monthly schedule like it used to operate on during Brand New Day. Which sounds good at first -- more comics, yay -- until you realize that's probably going to be $15 USD a month for a one title. That's $180 a year for one title, not including annuals or special issues. That's not feasible for a lot of fans -- young fans, poor fans, fans with other financial obligations etc. And most people aren't reading just one title. I don't know how the X-Men fans are currently financing their Krakoa habit and I'm afraid to ask. There are services like Marvel Unlimited, which make things slightly more affordable, but I imagine the wait for newer issues to hit the service can be alienating for some fans who want to join in current discussions, the library has some incredibly massive holes in it which is unacceptable when it's coming from inside the mouse house, and I believe, although I could be wrong, that it is not available in all countries. Comics are no longer an easily accessible hobby, if you're paying for everything you read.

"But the creatives deserve to get paid" is the common argument and yeah, they do, I'm not arguing that point. They should absolutely get paid and they should get well. I'm a writer, I'm a published writer even, and I want to be a published novelist, and I definitely want to get paid, and I'm reserving the right to be a complete hypocrite about this, as I do with everything in my life, but this is where the difference between indie publications and Marvel publications comes in: Marvel is owned by Disney. There is absolutely no excuse for Disney not to pay their creatives. If they are not getting paid fairly, it's not because you pirated a book -- it's because Disney has a vested interest in not paying their creators, as evidenced by Alan Dean Foster's lawsuit claiming that they are withholding royalties from him. Fans pirating these books are not the reason the creatives are not getting paid fairly -- the creatives are not getting paid fairly for the same reason that Disney park employees experience homelessness, and it's because Disney would rather put that money into the pockets of their executives. There is no debate on that subject. It's easier and perhaps more convenient to blame fans for pirating comics rather than putting all of their money into what has been for years now a prohibitively expensive hobby to keep up with, but the fact of the matter is Disney could pay all of their creatives what they're worth without hurting their bottom line and instead chooses not to. That is not on you, as an individual reader. You have no reason to feel guilty about that, no matter what your circumstances are, and you do not have to justify your actions to either me or the House of the Mouse. I'm with you, and Disney ultimately doesn't care. They're making that money up elsewhere and then not distributing it fairly to the people who create the properties their media empire is built off of. But especially if you're buying older books, you should know that your money is not going to the creative team -- once it's out of publication, they're not going to get any of the money you spent on it. The argument then becomes that you should be supporting local comics stores which yes, is true, but also doesn't apply to everyone, like anon who doesn't have access to local comic book stores. And again, this can become prohibitively expensive -- collections are expensive. Older, hard to find collections can be very expensive. Once something is out of print, all bets are off on what it might be selling for. Buying single issues is only affordable if the single issue isn't desirable or sometimes if it's in exceedingly bad condition. For the sake of transparency, I have a fairly big single issue collection because it's my preferred format, but I had the time to bargain hunt, access to local comic book stores and large comic conventions, and I'm very good at sniping eBay auctions. The most I have ever dropped on a single issue was expensive for me -- and still under three digits USD -- and it's for an issue from the '60s that is not in great condition.

The problem with this debate is that it is generally a nuanced issue that always gets boiled down to "piracy bad" in a way that makes a lot of well meaning and well intentioned fans, especially the ones with extenuating circumstances, feel bad. It's not your fault. You shouldn't feel guilty. There are a huge amount of reasons why someone might pirate something that are not bad reasons and do not make you a bad person who is personally withholding money from the creators -- because you're not. I don't publicly tell people where to pirate comics, mostly because I really don't think it's that hard to find out for yourselves especially because several creators involved with Marvel themselves have, I suspect accidentally, posted pages of their work to social media WITH THE BANNER OF A WELL KNOWN COMICS PIRACY SITE STILL IN THE IMAGE please learn how to crop, so maybe my standpoint on the issue wasn't well known, but there it is. I think readers should, if they are able to financially and otherwise, support the creators they like, but that it should be acknowledged that this is a more complicated issue than it's commonly made out to be on Twitter and that the largest part of the blame needs to be put on the companies making these comics inaccessible to many and who refuse to pay their creators fairly, not on individual fans. Don't feel guilty, anon.

[palbabor-writes]

Quarter-Century

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mild heavy petting, but this is pretty tame, oh & lots of fluff, likely enough to kill someone, so watch out for that, k?

What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do.

Words: 3754

Notes: if i call this a drabble are y’all gonna get mad at me? 

Quarter-Century quar·ter-cen·tu·ry /ˈkwôrdər/ - /ˈsen(t)SH(ə)rē/ noun  a period of 25 years

Twenty-five.  

It’s always spoken about like it’s some kind of milestone. Eh, it’s just another year, Kiyoomi thinks, tugging his sweaty shirt off of his back and walking toward the MSBY team dressing room, there’s nothing special about it. 

He’d woken up at 5:25, taken his first shower, kissed your sleeping form absentmindedly on the cheek before he left the bedroom, and jogged the three miles to the training facility.

He’d worked on his digs, on his jump float, and looked over the drills. The team had two practice games and had huddled up for the review at the end, the same as always. As Kiyoomi made his way out of the locker room Atsumu and Bokuto had both clapped him on the back, joking about the fleeting joys of ‘youth,’ and congratulating him on his performance on the court before they all went their separate ways, each gliding along their own trajectory. 

No, there’s nothing special about birthdays.

You’re not back from work when he gets home, so Kiyoomi pads around the empty apartment, flitting from room to room, disjointedly flipping on lights and switching them back off seconds later. It’s like he can’t make up his mind. Should he take a nap? He could sleep off these uncharacteristic and frustrating jitters that keep coursing through him. No, he reconsiders naps just make him groggy and irritable. What else?

He’s showered twice today, there’s no need for another, and it looks like you’d cleaned up the living room and kitchen before you’d left for the day, so there’s nothing for him to clean either. Ugh, what’s with this restlessness? 

There are old matches that he can watch, already primed and loaded onto his laptop, but it’s charging in the bedroom, likely tucked under some of your leaflets and various heapings of paperwork. It’d be a pain to move everything.

Eh, he could start a puzzle, maybe flip through some channels, see what’s on TV, and there’s that book that you’d told him he should check out, he’s weeks behind on starting that, but it’s in the bedroom too, and–

Damn it. It feels like he’s stuck in some kind of loop.

He flops down on the couch, tipping his dark head back, obsidian curls fanning around his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do. He smiles at that thought, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep exhale. It’ll be alright, he reasons, you’ll get back and he’ll shake himself out of this funk, and then maybe he can–

The sudden scrape of the lock turning makes him jump, and he pops his head up just as you step through the door, a smattering of canvas bags tucked under your coiled hands. You spot him as you tap the door closed, a broad grin lighting up your face. “Hey there!” you call out, stepping toward the kitchen to deposit your purchases. “Did you just get home? Practice go okay?” 

“It went well,” Kiyoomi replies, hunching forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That reminds me, the next match is this weekend, you still planning on going?”

“Yeah!” you confirm, tucking a few things into the fridge before you pace over to his seated figure. “It’s right before the playoffs start, so it’ll likely be one of the last ones I can get a good seat to. Once you guys get in those end of season bouts it gets...Hey, you sure you’re alright? You look a little, I don’t know, downcast?” You kneel in front of him, your hands reaching, stroking gently over his hair and down his jaw. 

“I’m fine. Feel a little...off...is all. Happens.”

“Off?” you question, bright eyes finally catching his onyx. “Well, we can’t have that. Not today!”

“Hmph, it’s just a Saturday,” Kiyoomi huffs, catching your wrists and lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yes,” you continue, watching as he distractedly toys with your hands, trailing his thumbs over your fingers and flipping your palms this way and that within his hold. “It’s also a Saturday where I’ve played the role of good– no great, girlfriend and got us some tickets! Surprise!”

“Tickets?” he echoes, his head cocking to the side as he lifts his gaze back to yours. “To what? If it’s some kinda concert, not to be an ass, but I don’t really want to go to a–”

“Really?” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at his morose expression. “You think, after two years of dating, that I’d take you to a concert? You? Kiyoomi Sakusa, the man who is pretty much allergic to crowds, who completely dipped out of a shoe store once because there were five people in the ‘athletic wear’ section, who abhors the mere thought of tight spaces and groups of twenty or more, thought that I, his loving partner, decided to put some some color into his living nightmares, and on his birthday no less, by bringing him to a concert?”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue and exhales a tight laugh. “When you put it that way, no. But on the off chance that you did, and you’re trying to bluff your way out of the situation by over elaborating your reasons for not bringing me, well…I’m gonna have to decline the gift.”

You narrow your eyes at his impassive face and purse your lips. “And to think, I was gonna come over here and give you a kiss and everything.” 

“You’ll still give me one,” Kiyoomi smarts, a coquettish smirk lifting his lips when you openly scoff at him. “So, out with it, what are the tickets to?”

“Oh? Now you wanna know? Suddenly you’re curious. Well you can hold on to that buddy, cuz’ I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my birthday,” he intones simply, broad palms already sliding up your arms, pulling you closer. You smell nice, Kiyoomi thinks, lips barely missing your own as you twist playfully away from him.

“Pfft, what happened to ‘it’s just a Saturday?’” you tease, following his insistent tugs, one knee pressing down into the cushions of the couch as you lower yourself over his lap. 

“Changed my mind,” Kiyoomi states, finally catching you and caressing his lips sinfully against yours. “I’m allowed to do that,” he continues, sucking a rasp from you as he drags his sharp teeth across the plush swell of your lower lip. “Mmm, you might have gotten a little distracted, so let me repeat my question: what are the tickets to?” 

He is genuinely interested; he wants to know what you’ve planned for the two of you, but his hands have already started that downward journey, long digits stroking over the curves that flow down your side, cupping and pulling just the way you like. Your knees lift when he buries his fingertips into the flesh of your upper thighs and you sigh, breath warm against his flushed cheeks. 

Actually, this is fine. After all, he’s good at this. He’s had plenty of time to learn you, to practice, and he loves that he knows just what to do to make you quake between his heated palms. But when he jerks you closer, your lips slip from his and you’re careful to brace yourself away, momentarily safe from his distracting caresses. 

“Baseball,” you pant, hands resting over the hard plane of his pectorals.

“Huh?” he queries, heavy brows furrowing, wholly distracted by the rise and fall of your uneven breaths and the gentle twitch of your spread legs against his hips. 

“A baseball game. I got us tickets to a baseball game.”

“It’s smaller than what I was picturing,” Kiyoomi says, adjusting the placement of his mask before looking down at you. “And what are you gonna do with that bag? Can you even take that in here?”

You laugh at his question, hoisting the thick strap of your insulated pack higher on your shoulder. “It’s the Yomiuri Giants, they’re part of the minor league so it’s a smaller stadium and don’t worry, they let you bring coolers and snacks in.”

“Eh? Snacks? Don’t they have concessions? Seems counter-productive if they let you bring your own food. How are they supposed to make money? Atsumu said that half of our vendors make a good deal of their revenue from their booths during the playoffs and the regular season. So I don’t see how that’s practical. What do you have in there, anyway? It looks heavy. Oh. Did you want me to carry it?”

“I’m not sure which one of those I should answer first,” you grin, dodging his extended hand and stepping forward. “Come on, I think we can head in now.”

The seats are located in the shade of the upper deck, right behind the third base, giving you both a perfect bird's-eye view of the action that will take place down on the field below. True to your word, the ticket inspectors had let you and your pack pass through without a word of protest, and as he flipped down his plastic seat, you carefully tucked the thick canvas between the two of you. 

“What’s in it?” he asked again, peering over your shoulder as you unzipped the long teeth and reached into the dark depths, hands searching for something. 

“You’ll see,” you promise, leaning back once you found your prize, a small bottle of hand sanitizer. You pop the lid up and nod for his palms, carefully pressing some of the clear antiseptic onto his hands. “Game should start soon,” you inform, repeating the cleaning process yourself before closing the top and tossing the bottle back into the bag. “And I wanna make sure you’re set before I head down to the concession stands.”

“So it’s food,” he determines, slipping his mask off of his face, tucking it under his chin, an appreciative smile winding its way up his lips. 

“Of course it is! You think I’d leave you to languish for 9 innings while I sit beside you, gorging myself on the delicious food they sell at the concessions, which you refuse to eat? Alas, not even I am that cruel. Nah, I brought something that I hope you’ll like.”

“I’ll like it,” Kiyoomi replies, resting his muscled shoulder against yours, watching as you arrange a few clear sets of Tupperware in your hands, lifting them evenly out of the bag. 

“Careful,” you jab, tossing him a mischievous grin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It’s from you; I’ll like it.”

Your hands still after his declaration and you twist your head back to him, eyes wide, searching his placid expression. “Okay,” you laugh, setting the Tupperware aside, fully turning to him and wrapping an arm around his neck, your other hand cupping his cheek, pulling him down to your seeking lips. “That was too much. There some sort of class you stoic types take? How to make others swoon in five lessons, or less?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, prying your hands from him. “It’s true. No need to make a big deal about it. You put a lot of effort into today, and I...I just think that...I mean...thanks,” he finishes lamely, dark eyes balefully avoiding yours. You chuckle again and reward him with another peck to his cheek.  

“So cute.”

“Stop it,” he grumbles, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Weren’t you gonna show me something? Better hurry. After all, there’s still time for me to mess it up.”

“What does that mean?” you puzzle, pulling away.

“I dunno. I always say the wrong shit. You know that.”

“Well,” you ponder, tapping a finger against your chin. “We’re at a baseball game, so, in the spirit of the sport, why don’t I give you three strikes?”

“Just three? I mean, wow, that’s so generous of you.”

You flash him a quick glare, tutting your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Oooh, swing and a miss. Strike one!”

He’s just about to give you some retort when you press two of the containers into his hands. The heat of the plastic feels nice against his calloused palms, and he can see the fresh steam that surrounds the food that’s waiting inside. “Onigiri?” he questions, popping the lid, mouth watering at the sight of all of that pristine rice. Damn, when did you have time to make these?

“Homemade onigiri with pickled plums,” you inform him, a gleeful smile lighting up your face, pleased that he’s already reaching for one, a look of genuine happiness falling over his usually impassive expression.

“You remembered,” he murmurs, picking up the carefully shaped ball and lifting it to his lips. He bites into the fluffy rice, fastidiously letting the flavors fall over his tongue and across his pallet. It’s perfect, he thinks as he chews, just the right amount of pickled savoriness and clean, delicate grains. Damn, when did you do all of this?

You let him finish the first onigiri before you pass him a can of beer. It’s chilled, likely sitting toward the bottom of the bag, and he flicks a stray chip of ice off of the rim. A sealed can of beer, a carefully packed meal. Is there anything you haven’t thought of?

He’s just about to turn, to tell you that...well, he’s not sure what exactly. Maybe it is something about how lucky he is. How he’s somehow stumbled into something so sublime, so wonderful, as you, and how he should tell you that more, when you stand. 

“I’m going to hop down to the food stands. Inning should open up any minute. I’m glad this is an off season game, we’ve pretty much got this whole deck to ourselves! Be right back, ‘kay?”

He nods, eyes lingering on your hands, your smile, your eyes, just everything that he can see that’s you, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. What’s he gonna say? Don’t go? Stay here. He’ll go down. 

He’ll do whatever you want; anything for you, anything.

You tilt your head at his stony, almost stricken expression, but you don’t comment on it, content with tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear before you spring up the steps, stepping away from his overwhelmed and utterly entranced form. 

Damn. 

He’s scrolling through his phone when the 1st inning ends, thumb whisking over the lists of required paperwork, the $50 dollar notarial fee, the Kon-in Todoke, mentally counting up the required signatures, the necessary witnesses. This is crazy, he thinks, skimming over the U.S. Embassy & Consulate regulations on the ‘Affidavit of Competency to Marry’ in Japan, he hasn’t even talked with you about this, but he’s honestly never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Right as he flips to a secondary tab, one that holds a few jewelry stores and ideas about ‘how to pop the question,’ he catches sight of you. You slide down the row of empty seats, your hands filled with various snacks and a tall glass of foaming beer. 

“Sorry! Wasn’t expecting to take that long, I completely missed the 1st inning! Good thing no one scored. Hopefully things will liven up with the 2nd and 3rd innings.” You settle in beside him, setting your beer against the cold concrete before jostling your popcorn and hot dog to your opposite hand, eyes peering over the brightly lit field. 

Kiyoomi bites back his grin and switches his phone off, obscuring the glittering pixels of diamonds and his future plans from view and tucks his device into his jacket pocket. You turn to look at him, your eyes narrowing and brow arching at his poorly controlled attempts to hide his giddiness. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, slinging a long arm around your shoulders, tugging you close and planting a quick kiss against your temple.

“Liar,” you accuse, leaning back, eyes following the sharp angles of his handsome face.

“What made you pick baseball? You feeling homesick or something?”

“Hmph, no! I just...hmm, how to put this. I figured it’d be nice to take you to a game that’s not volleyball. One that we can just watch. There’s no need to worry about analyzing anyone’s performance, or your own here…you can just relax.”

Kiyoomi cocks his head at you, a few errant curls falling over his brow. “Do I do that when we go to a volleyball game?”

You nearly choke on your beer. “Mmm...koff...do you do that? Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, obsidian eyes watching you closely. Wait, is he a pain to go to a game with?

“Kiyoomi?”

“Hmm.”

“I wasn’t about to take you to a volleyball game for your birthday. That’d be like you taking me back to the office and asking me to celebrate with you in the staff break room. I mean, I know you love the sport, but it’s your job. It’s what you do all day. Besides, the last time we went to a match I don’t think you said more than five words to me and you were constantly writing down the plays on your phone. I–Oh! That’s not a bad thing, not at all! It makes sense,” you amend, catching sight of his abruptly ashen expression. 

“It’s just...you’re good...no good doesn’t cut it...you’re amazing at what you do. You’ve got that hunger that all the sports documentaries I’ve ever watched talk about and you’re constantly looking to improve. It’s impressive, really! But...I just thought this might be a change of pace. Something that we could both go to, could watch, with no additional stakes. Who cares who wins? I mean, I want the home team to, obviously, but we can leave here when it’s over and just take memories, not more worries or challenges. And definitely not any notes. Sorry, that prolly’ sounds so rude, but I really want you to relax today. You more than deserve it.”

“It’s perfect,” Kiyoomi confirms, finally leaning back against the strong plastic of his seat, pulling you closer, bringing his knee toward your thigh, pressing until he can feel the heat of you past the material of his jeans. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” you laugh. “It’s the least I could do. If you’re happy, then I’m happy! Oh! Speaking of, you gotta try this beer! It’s so good!”

He looks skeptically down at the plastic glass that’s still clutched between your fingers. “No. I’m not drinking out of that cup.”

“Kiyoomi,” you begin, fixing him with a hard stare. “You know we live together, right? If I pick anything up from this, then, and I hate to tell you this, but you’ll get it too, eventually.”

With a scoffed exhale and a curl of his lip he leans away from you, nose wrinkling distastefully at your threat.

“Come on,” you taunt, shaking the cup playfully in your hand, “You won’t regret it!”

“No.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, you know that?”

“Never heard that before,” he laughs, coiling himself toward you, his arm around your back, squeezing you closer, holding on as tight as he can. 

It’s dark when the two of you get back home, but you won’t let him flip on the overhead lights, not yet. “Just wait, gimme a sec. There’s one more thing I wanna do...why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll turn on the lamp and be right back, promise.”

Obediently, he perches on the edge of the cushions and waits. 

He can hear you as you move around the kitchen, and he feels like he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. Throughout the game, on the cab ride home, as he stood behind you in the darkened hallway, waiting for you to unlock the door, he’d kept his hands on you. It was like you were some kind of magnet and he couldn’t help but be tugged forward by your irresistible pull. 

“Hey! Close your eyes!” you call, feet soft against the wood as you pad back to him. He shakes his head at your request, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but he obliges you. How can he not? “No peeking,” you warn, and he it’s like he can almost feel you again as you come to stand in front of him once more. “Alright…I think that’s good. Now...open them!”

The space in front of him is bathed in a soft glow, with whisking yellows and gentle oranges dancing, flickering across your arms. The light from the candle illuminates your face, catching against your eyes and making them shine, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s breathing anymore. 

“I know it’s not much,” you justify, cupping your fingers around the delicate flame and lifting the cupcake toward him. “But I learned my lesson last year. Got you that huge cake and the leftovers languished in the fridge for almost a week. And you know what they say, less is more, right?”

Without thinking, his hands race forward, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. “Woah,” you exhale, a laugh bubbling from your lips. “Careful! I don’t wanna catch you on fire. Some birthday that would be. Come on, time’s a’wasting birthday boy, blow it out and make a wish!”

He’d lied earlier. 

When he’d thought that there was nothing special about birthdays. There is something special about this birthday and, for the first time, he knows just what he’s going to wish for. 

It’s easy to blow out the light. It’s a little harder to protect the cupcake from his downward tug, his hands insistent, firm, but somehow you safely tuck it behind you and twist back to him, fingers lacing into his onyx curls. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask, settling yourself across his lap.

“Can’t tell you yet,” Kiyoomi answers honestly, lips already seeking yours.

“Huh? You’re not supposed to tell me at all!”

“Too bad,” he intones, silencing any further retorts with the heady persuasion of his caresses and wandering touch. “I’m gonna tell you soon. Now let me enjoy you.”

notes: hbd! shoutout to @albinoburrito for her excellent edits and suggestions :*

[aquatik]

Hello vale <3 May I request a Kuroo scenario where he jokes about wanting to spend time with his s/o so they have a “girls” day together with a at home spa and etc 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 and I would find it cute if you also wrote the scenario for one of your comfort characters too but you don’t have too! Well 🥺 thank you sm vale. Love ya -🛸

“girls” night spa hcs with kuroo, sugawara, and yaku

pairings - tetsuro kuroo x reader, koushi sugawara x reader, morisuke yaku x reader

word count - 1600

genere - fluff

fem!reader

warnings - none <3

under the cut since these got long

Tetsuro Kuroo

so you guys are hanging out, after volleyball. you were watching those old youtube videos of like vlog-style/ expectation vs. reality type of thing

the good ole’ days

anyways

kuroo was scrolling on instagram to see one of your friends had posted a throwback to one of your sleepovers on her private. you guys had on face masks and a hair mask on the picture

“baaabe?”

“yes suro?”

“when was this?”

“ooh, i remember! that was months ago. haven’t had one in a while.”

“let’s do it.”

“wait what-”

in all honesty, you couldn’t say no. what was the worst that could happen? it could actually be fun

you guys go to the store and purchase everything you need. surprisingly, kuroo actually knew what to get

well, could you be surprised? man knows everything about chemistry, it’s no surprise he knows his way around what’s good for your skin

“suro how do you-”

“don’t question it.”

you took initiative on the hair care products since that’s self-explanatory-

as you were about to pay he smacks your hand and pays for himself

like, sir ???

anyways

you guys head back and start the spa night

you both took turns in applying everything on each other, you make sure to scrub that hair mask well into his hair to at least make sure he’s a healthy rooster head

“did you just purr?”

“wouldn’t you like to know.”

you guys post a lot on instagram and snapchat.

the team group chat going off:

kenma just said kuroo looks stupid with his hair flat. lev was accusing kuroo of cutting his head off since he looked shorter, yaku was yelling at lev. kai was just telling you guys to have fun, and yamamoto was sobbing, saying how kuroo doesn’t know how lucky he is.

for sure at one point you guys went to scare kenma.

like kuroo has a key so you guys snuck into kenma’s house

you were just sitting on the couch, recording

kuroo turned his wifi off so kenma got up to go fix it

“was the cord too heavy..?”

“surprise pudding head”

“what the fuck-“

and kenma grabs a pillow and full-on throws kuroo to the ground.

like

sir-

where that strength coming from?

“KENMA MY FACE MASK-“

“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE? I JUST GOT DISCONNECTED FROM AN AMONG US GAME! YOU ASS!”

“MY FACE!”

now you have a great video

overall you both really enjoyed the little spa night, promising to do them more often.

on the plus side, kuroo had really soft rooster hair. you had succeeded.

Koushi Sugawara

okay so you being the supportive girlfriend that you are, you attended their volleyball practice. you just so happened to have finished a really difficult assignment a while ago but you were still exhausted

coach ukai gave them a break before they started individual practice. being the loving boyfriend sugawara is, he immediately ran over to you

he was too busy practicing earlier to see you stressing over the now completed assignment. even though that assignment was taking up your time, you managed to multi-task and do both the assignment and watch them

“hi my love, did you see the- woah hey, what’s wrong?”

“huh? oh, nothing. i was just working on the assignment that i mentioned to you earlier. but yeah, i saw the play you guys are doing great. you're going to practice the synchronized attack later right?”

“well- i mean yeah but you should have been paying attention to your work.”

“nah it’s fine, i got it done anyways.”

“spa night.”

“what”

“you heard me. spa night. your sleeping over tonight and staying the weekend so it’s fine. i will not tolerate this stress in you, plus it will be fun!’

“you know, you could use one too.”

“well, then more reason to do it right?”

dammit, he’s convincing.

so after practice, you guys make it on your merry little way to the store and bought everything

no really

everything.

any mask you started reading: in the cart.

any facial cleanser? consider it bought.

face serum? you got it

oh and snacks. lots of snacks.

mans didn’t even let you pay

you knew this would happen so you sneaked and bought something and just hid them in your bag

so you know you guys are spamming your feeds everywhere. tiktok, snapchat, instagram, twitter you name it

you guys took a couple of pictures with your face masks on

since you had to wait a while for the face mask to set, you guys were going to watch something while eating

but no you had other plans

“no put the controller down.”

“what why?”

“because.”

you pull out a manicure kit, you had hidden this from suga

“i’ve gotta make sure my favorite setter has well-taken care nails. wouldn’t want an injury to happen.”

“...”

“kou?”

“i love you so much.”

“i love you too kou”

so you guys take turns feeding each other little snacks while doing suga’s hands. standing up to wash the masks off then continuing where you left off.

the whole time you guys would talk about anything so it was a nice time

once your done he thanks you and kisses your nose

i love him if you can’t tell

you guys definitely have more of these in the future.

you guys used one of the pictures you took together and now have matching profiles, you having sugawara as the profile picture and him having you.

morisuke yaku

you being nekoma’s unofficial but at this point you are the manager you always go to every practice, game, you name it

so you get to see your lovely libero boyfriend practice

and also becoming the mom of the team

oh and let’s mention lev

he’s a great boy, he has potential but does he strike a nerve at yaku sometimes

it seems more recently the team has been pushing these said strikes

while thinking of ways you could help him de-stress, you look up to him smiling at you, only for it to turn to yelling at lev

“what are you thinking about bab- LEV SHUT UP!”

“hmm, i got it!”

“what?”

you point at him and he’s like ???

“you. me. spa night when we get to your house.”

“what- i mean i’m not opposed to it but any reason why? are you okay?

this man doesn’t even realize-

anyways

you take his water bottle he was drinking from and he goes back to practice

you see him working hard, getting his receives, and digs to near perfection. you can’t help but notice how red his arms are getting. more red than usual.

you made a mental note of them and to remember to purchase something at the store later.

after practice ends you guys go to the nearest store and buy everything you need. getting some snacks, face masks, etc.

he goes to the other side of the store to see if he can find any athletic tape and you take your opportunity.

you go into the aisle, pick up the items run to pay, hide them, and boom mission complete.

he comes back with the tape and he doesn’t let you pay

like wtf square up

but it’s fine he kisses you when guys leave the store since he can feel the anger seeping from you

mad —> happy

you guys get back and he throws a hoodie on you, the typical routine.

he’s actually really excited to be doing this! he’s been wanting to do this with you for a while but didn’t know how to bring it up. plus poor baby needed to relax.

“baby let’s do this one!”

“wait mori we need to do this one first”

“oh”

pouty baby

you have your masks on now, waiting for them to set. you pull out a nail file to smoothen out a nail that had chipped in the corner.

“are we doing nails?”

“nope”

”aww”

“oh wait, mori roll your sleeves up”

huh? okay..”

you pull out some massage oil and lotion, the two things you went in search of at the store.

“i’ve seen your arms mori, let me do this.”

“truth be told, i got the tape for that reason.”

you get to work, massaging the arms of the nekoma setter. the pent up stress he had was now gone, due to the fact he was talking to you about it and you massaging his arms.

after you finished, you both wanted to go pick up some food. so you guys head out.

only one thing

you forgot to take the masks off.

“wait mori-“

“oh shit”

“oh well”

so the two of you chaotic people just went to get the food with your face masks on.

before that you guys took pictures

you get to the place you guys wanted to get food from and low and behold:

most of the team is there.

“YAKKUN WHAT ARE YOU DOING”

“SHUT UP ROOSTER HEAD”

“YAKU-SAN IS DYING!”

“lev it’s just a face mask he will live”

“YAKU YOU LUCKY LITTLE-“

“i think they are adorable”

“KAI WE ARE SUPPOSED TO MAKE FUN OF HIM”

“oops”

you guys get your food then r a n

he kisses temple as you both walk out of the food place

please i love him

his arms are feeling so much better! he no longer needs the tape.

it became a silent agreement that more arm massages and more spa nights would take hold in the future.

these were so cute to write i love them-

general taglist- @drabblily @visaintes @bellesowl @miki-snake

[kozumekenza]

house of memories :: three

:: kageyama tobio x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.0k ::

the last you had heard of kageyama tobio, he was following his grandfather’s footsteps and leaving you behind to join the syndicate. a chance meeting throws him back into your life, along with all of the memories.

tw: mafia elements, profanity, blood, discussion of kidnapping

Dinner is a quiet affair, the three of you sitting in the penthouse’s dining room while a personal chef serves you. The food is delicious, and for a moment, you’re yet again jealous of Kageyama for having all of this at his disposal. Pre-packaged bentos and junk food are the norm for you, so you would kill to have a personal chef. 

“So, y/n, what are you up to now?” Miwa spears a piece of chicken with her fork as she speaks, her eyes locked on you.

You can’t help the smile that comes to your face. “I’m sure you already know.”

She has the foresight to look slightly disappointed. “True, but I want to hear it from you.”

You sigh, taking another bite. “I’m in college at Tokyo University, just started my fourth year. Going pre-med. My best friend is finishing up nursing school. I intern at a research lab on campus, but that’s about it for extracurriculars. Most of my time is spent doing homework and applying to medical school now, anyway.”

“Fun, I guess?”

You shake your head. “Not at all.”

Miwa tilts her head. “Why do you do it, then?”

Contemplating, you pause for a second. Why are you doing all of this? “I want to be a doctor, and these are just the steps for getting there. I do what I have to do.”

She nods in understanding. “You need a break sometime, though. We should hangout sometime, go shopping and whatnot.”

Kageyama, who has been silent during the entire conversation, finally speaks. “You just want to spend my money.”

Miwa reaches across the table to swat at her brother, who avoids her hand by quickly sliding his chair back. “So what if I do? You have so much of it and you never do anything with it. Someone needs to put it to good use, and I’m sure y/n and I can do that.”

Kageyama accepts his defeat with a blank stare. “Fine.”

Miwa squeals in delight and you laugh along with her. “When are you free? I spotted this gorgeous Balmain dress that I’ve had my eye on for awhile, and last time I was in Versace, I found this beautiful zip-up mini, but I didn’t like how it looked on me. I think you would look amazing in it!”

You give her an incredulous look. “I’m free tomorrow, but I’m not quite sure that I could afford that.”

Miwa gasps. “Don’t worry about that, we’re using Tobio’s money.”

The man in question just sighs.

“I couldn’t use his money-”

“Just do it.” Your eyes snap to Kageyama, who seems ready to say anything for this conversation to be over.

“There’s no way, I-”

“Just use the money, y/n. Miwa’s right anyway, I really have too much money that I’ll never use. I’ll give you my black card.”

Your eyes widen. “I really can’t let you do that.”

“Y/n, I have three billion dollars sitting in an account that I never touch. I can afford a shopping spree for you and my sister.”

You truly can’t believe that you’re sitting in front of a billionaire. You figured Kageyama was rich, but this rich? You want to ask him how he did it (you know the answer) or if he can pay for your medical school tuition instead, but what comes out of your mouth is: “Three billion?”

“Yes. Consider it an apology for this mess I’ve gotten you into.” He takes out his wallet and slides a card across the table. “If there isn’t at least a hundred thousand missing from the account, I’ll custom order something for you.” He stands, turning towards the stairs, leaving you slack-jawed and stunned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish up. Y/n, I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow when Miwa inevitably drags you back here to try on everything.”

Speechless, you turn to Miwa, who looks smug and delighted. When you finally regain the ability to talk, all you can do is pick up the weighted credit card and whisper, “What the fuck.”

---

The next day, you step outside of your apartment and see a nondescript black sedan parked on the street. You laugh a little to yourself before snapping a pic and messaging it to Kageyama with the caption “you won’t even know they’re there, he said”.

---

When Miwa picks you up in her Lexus after your morning lab, it’s with a coffee and croissant in hand. You sink into the seat, sipping your coffee as she drives off. 

“Thank you so much. I can’t believe you remembered my coffee order after all this time.”

She grins sheepishly. “It was in the file.”

“S-Seriously?” you sputter, “He has that kind of shit in my file?”

“He has all sorts of shit in that file.”

You shake your head. “At least if I get kidnapped, they’ll know my coffee order.”

“Hey, about that,” Miwa parks and turns to look at you, “are you alright? I know it’s probably pretty scary, knowing that someone has all that information about you and could use it against you at any moment.”

“I think I’m alright. I mean, I knew it would always be a possibility.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. If you ever need to talk about it, you have my number.”

You give her a smile. “Thank you, Miwa.”

“Of course. Now let’s go shopping.”

---

You’re starting to question how Kageyama has any money at all. Miwa is a menace when shopping, dragging you from store to store, every clerk greeting her by name and suggesting anything new they have to fit her tastes. She was right, her Balmain dress is gorgeous, and you tell her so when she models it for you. She brings you to Versace to show you the zip-up mini, and you immediately fall in love. It’s a gorgeous dress, black with gold accents. 

Paying for it, however, is another story. You feel so guilty when you hand over the black card, you almost tell the clerk that you’ve changed your mind. The only thing that stops you is Miwa standing next to you, her eyes encouraging you and reminding you that if you don’t spend the money, Kageyama will do it for you.

“Do you wanna stay over tonight? Tobio’s working late, and I’ve honestly missed spending time with you. You’ve always been like a little sister to me.”

Miwa’s words take you by surprise. You always thought that she hated you after you walked away from Kageyama, but her actions so far have shown the complete opposite. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you guys.”

“Of course I’m sure.” Her smile is bright as she leads you to the next store. “We have two guest rooms in the penthouse, and I want to have a girls night.”

“That honestly sounds amazing.” Hana’s on night shift again tonight, and you would much rather spend your evening with Miwa than in an empty apartment.

“Great, I’m glad.” Miwa’s smile disappears as she browses a rack of blouses. “Honestly, I don’t have that many friends. It’s hard to keep them, doing what we do, and I’m always with Tobio anyway. It’s so nice to have a girl to talk to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This is probably the first time I’ve hung out with a friend in over a year.” Miwa’s sadness shows in her eyes, and you feel awful for her. She’s always there for her brother, putting him before herself. 

You pull her in for a hug. “I don’t want to say that I’m glad the files were hacked, but I am glad that you are back in my life again.”

“Me too.”

---

Somehow, Miwa convinces you to get matching silk robes for your girls’ night, along with enough skincare and spa products to last for weeks. You’re exhausted by the time you’re finally done shopping, satisfied with your purchases but still feeling slightly guilty. The numerous shopping bags are put into the car, and soon enough, you’re heading back to the penthouse.

When you arrive, the sun has already set, and she ushers you into her bedroom to try on everything you bought, just as Kageyama predicted. All in all, you made out pretty well, with two purses, two pairs of Louboutins (one pair for Hana, of course), numerous clubbing outfits, and some nicer clothes for med school interviews. Miwa claps and cheers as you twirl and spin, gushing over your new outfits. 

“You look so gorgeous, y/n.”

This time, she’s referring to the robe that matches hers. It’s truly an extravagant thing, long and flowing with silk and lace. It feels nonexistent on your skin, and you think that if you had to pick one thing to wear for the rest of your life, it would be this. 

“Thank you.” You’re blushing slightly as you twirl in front of the mirror. You’ve never worn anything like this before.

“Just wait ‘til Tobio comes home and sees you in it.”

Your head snaps up and your cheeks turn bright red as you rush over to a giggling Miwa, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say things like that.”

You remove your hand slowly, and immediately regret it. “Why? It’s true. He’s probably going to blush as hard as you are right now and spend the rest of the night in his room, avoiding you.”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “No he won’t.”

“Uh, yeah, he will.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes! He’s still in love with you! Of course he’s gonna go crazy!”

“He’s what?” You’re in disbelief, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. It’s hard to believe that Kageyama would love any part of you after you left when he announced his move to Tokyo and his future plans. 

Miwa puts her hand on your shoulder, looking you in the eyes. “He still loves you, y/n. He never stopped.”

“How is that even possible? I left him.”

“Oh, babe.” She leads you to sit on the edge of her bed as you wipe your eyes. “He never blamed you for that, not once. He knew that you weren’t going to be able to be with him when he told you. He’s kept an eye on you for the past four years because he can’t let you go. I kept telling him that he couldn’t keep it up forever, but then you were in the club that night, and I swear, it was fate. Y’know,” she chuckles lightly, “that night, after he saw you, he came straight up here and sat on the couch for hours, staring out the window. When I finally finished my shift and came up, he was crying. You can’t tell anyone though, because he’s supposed to be this big bad guy and all,” she waves her hand, “but that was the most emotional I’ve seen him in years.”

“Really?” Your voice breaks when you speak, and your tears haven’t stopped. 

“Yes. He’s always loved you, and although the circumstances aren’t ideal, I think it’s wonderful that you’re back in his life again.”

You nod. “I missed him, and I still love him, but I don’t know if I can be with him. This is all still so unfamiliar to me, and it’s scary. I have to figure out if it’s worth it.”

Miwa rubs small circles on your back. “I know. Take as much time as you need. I’m just glad you’re here, and I know Tobio is too.”

---

After the emotional rollercoaster in Miwa’s bedroom, you two went downstairs to the living area, ordering takeout and putting on face masks. You lounged on the couch, eating ramen and watching k-dramas until late in the evening. You didn’t ask when Kageyama would be home; you simply enjoyed your time with Miwa. It was nice, spending time with someone that you once considered a sister. You were thrilled that you could hopefully regain that relationship with her. 

At around eleven, the elevator dings, signaling someone’s arrival. 

Your jaw drops as Kageyama Tobio stumbles into the penthouse, one hand clutching his bleeding chest, as he passes out in the foyer.

taglist: @lilith412426​