#but i did write it out by hand. trying to match the font

[giftplane]

play music for baby

[bluejayblueskies]

ten thousand flowers in spring | bluejayblueskies

[ID: Three photos of a hand-bound book from different angles that show the front, side, and back respectively. The book has dark green bookcloth, a decorative red and gold ribbon along the front cover and a black ribbon along the back cover, and a gold painted cherry blossom design on the front and back covers. The title and author name are also in gold on the front cover and spine and read, "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and "bluejayblueskies." /End ID]

Last November, I got a Silhouette cutting machine for Black Friday. This weekend, I finally got the chance to use it for a bookbinding project! I bound my fic ten thousand flowers in spring as part of one of my Fandom Trumps Hate typesetting gifts, and I had a lot of fun going all-out with the flower iconography.

[ID: Two photos of the interior of the book. The first is the title page spread of the book, showing a pastel-colored painting of a cherry blossom-scattered hill with sheep and a shepherd that spans both pages. On the right page, there is the title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and the author name "bluejayblueskies" in a sans serif font. The second is the colophon (left) and table of contents (right) of the book. The colophon has details about the binder, the original fic, and the fonts and image sources used in the book. The table of contents has each chapter title and corresponding page number listed in a grid format with flower icons above each chapter title. /End ID]

Each chapter is titled after a flower that has a specific meaning that ties into the chapter content. I decided to style this bind after old botany books. Along with the cover, which is inspired by the covers of old botany books, each chapter header has an image of the titular flower pulled from public domain botany book scans, along with the flower's name and meaning below it.

[ID: The inside of the book, showing a page of text on the left and the chapter header on the right. The chapter header has an old-style image of blue salvia on it, with the name "blue salvia" and the meaning "friendship, family, thoughtful gestures, thinking of you" beneath it. /End ID]

Each chapter also begins with a faux-excerpt from the book Jon is writing throughout the fic:

[ID: The inside of the book, showing the introductory faux book excerpt on the left and the beginning chapter text on the right. The faux book text has an image of a flower beneath it; the beginning chapter text has a drop cap with a floral design at the beginning of it. /End ID]

Some more notes and pictures on process are below the cut!

The binding style of this fic is sewn boards binding, which I like for thinner books as the spine is much less fiddly to work with. It's also a really nice binding style in general because it eliminates my least-favorite part of the binding process: casing in. When casing in a regular case-bound book, you construct the entire case separately from the text block and then attach the case to the text block via the endpapers. Inevitably, I always end up just a little bit crooked, and because my brain currently refuses to let me try using paste instead of PVA, it's very hard to fix once the endpapers are pasted down.

With sewn boards binding, the boards are attached to the text block via an extra signature of folded cardstock on the ends of the text block. The case is then constructed directly onto the text block, and glueing the endpapers down is very, very easy and near-impossible to mess up.

The ends of the boards do end up exposed with this binding style. The first time I did it, I covered them with paper. This time, I painted them gold to match the cover:

[ID: A side view of the book, showing off the exposed boards near the spine which are painted gold. The front cover of the book can also be seen at an angle. /End ID]

I plan to experiment more in the future with potentially adding endbands to this binding style, as that's one thing I wish this book had that it does not.

For the cover design, I first cut out the stencils using my Silhouette:

[ID: A cutting mat with white vinyl stuck to it that has been cut and weeded to expose the backlit cherry blossom design. The title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and author name "bluejayblueskies" can be seen in the designs for the front cover and spine. /End ID]

I'd heard a lot of things about weeding, positive and negative, but I actually enjoyed doing the weeding on this 😂 it was like doing a puzzle in a way. I think I would like it less if I had to keep all of the tiny little pieces and make sure they looked nice, but as it was, all I had to do was remove them and it didn't matter if they got bent in the process.

The fabric paint I have dries very quickly, so I got very little bleed on my stencil and was able to remove it almost right away:

[ID: The back cover of the book with the vinyl stencil stuck to it, painted over somewhat messily with gold fabric paint. /End ID]

Overall, I was very happy with the stenciling process and will probably continue to do stencils as opposed to heat transfer vinyl unless I want to do some bigger, blockier designs in the future.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hi! Sorry to annoy you, but can you maybe write a story about Maleficent and Hades's other child? She ( or whatever gender ) is Mal's sister, and they genuinely have a good relationship, but she grew up with Hades. She and Hades were like best friends. She had black and blue hair to match him and her mom. She was neglected by Maleficent, because Maleficent always paid more attention to Mal and in turn it caused a lot of arguments between her and Hades, causing their split up. Fast Forward, the reader, Chloe, and Red go back in time, and the reader sees her parents so in love and happy. She is filled with bitterness seeing them, but also longing, cause she never really got to know her mom. She tried keeping her distance and helping Chloe and Red. Little did she know, she caught her parents attention, who were trying to figure out the confusing person with dark black and blue hair. But the reader mostly got the attention of Maleficent. I don't know what else, except maybe make it angsty, but in the end make it sweet. Again, I kept saying 'she' but it could be gender neutral, if you want of course! I've never requested a story before, so this feels weird. But thank you! :)

this is definitely a long one but it's okay lol ; also dw about sending long reqs (that goes to everyone) but maybe use the small font cause I do go back and look over when I'm writing / it's a bit of a scroll for others but it's totally okay!! ; but I can definitely try to do this, this seems really cool! ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; this is kinda one run-on sentence but I really don't care 😔🙏

HADES & MALEFICENT ; a sense of belonging

summary ; as you go back in time to stop qoh's coup, you see your parents at merlins academy and catch attention of them, though they don't know who you are

warnings ; language, mentions/talk of parental neglect / arguing / stuff like that

track ; lonely is the muse, halsey

word count ; 1.2k

masterlist

You didn't go a day without blaming yourself for your parent's breakup. You were never enough for your mom. Never evil enough. You never listened. You were your father's kid, you guessed. Thankfully, you and your sister were still close, your parents never having put a hole in your relationship.

Though, seeing them here, like this, before you and Mal, it made your heart shatter. They were highschool sweethearts. You never knew that.

They seemed so in love, they seemed happy. It was like your entire existence ruined them entirely. Forget the underlying issues between them, you were the problem. You'd always be the problem.

You shouldn't have come. You couldn't fix history. You didn't even know why you lunged at Red while she tried to disarm Chloe. You saw that pocketwatch, you should've assumed it would do something. Though, you wouldn't blame Red, she had good intentions to stop her mother from becoming a tyrant. Messing with time and history would come with consequences, though, you just didn't know how yet.

But it didn't matter in this moment.

As you stand before Maleficent and Hades next to Red and Chloe, all you can feel is the numbness inside your heart. You could feel your heart constricting inside your body, like it was actively shattering here and now. They stand behind Uliana, her hand held in his.

It didn't matter to you that you were one of the first VK's to attend Auradon Prep, or that you helped outsmart Uma and save the king, or that you helped Mal's final decision to open up the Isle for good, you'd forever be a windchime in the window, catching mean, snarky comment that was thrown your way. You would always reassemble yourself to fit the perfect view of how your parents saw you. To Maleficent, a gift from Hades himself, sadly. To Hades, the best kid he could've ever asked for, even if he didn't agree with every decision you'd made in life.

You would just exist to decorate every miserable moment of their lives, including the past now, apparently. You were the muse to their world-renowned painter, the lonely muse who would forever be forgotten after being discarded, ar least to your mother. You couldn't begin to process what awful time paradox you were creating here.

As you walk away, following Chloe and Red back to the dorms to plan, your head hangs low. The past few minutes of actions had been erased from your kind as you blacked out, trapped in your thoughts. Your eyes has glazed over entirely, blindly following the duo you'd been dragged to the past with.

Your mother hissed at the audience who'd witnessed Uliana's fall into the enchanted fountain, something she did to scare you. Thank God she was a lizard now. Hades held his ember tight, his eyes fixed on you as you walked away.

Lonely is the muse.

You didn't know how or why, but you'd caught the attention of your parents.

The following afternoon, you decided to separate from Red and Chloe while they went to visit Bridget in her dorm, needing to borrow some powerful cookbook. You needed some air. You felt so heavy and held down here.

You run a hand over your navy blue and black hair, sitting in front of the fountain alone. You wanted to cry but there was no effort, no amount of emotion, left to do so.

You hated your mother because of how she treated you. You hated because you grieved the fact that you never knew her. She didn't tell you bedtime stories of her wicked past, she didn't teach you spells or how to be evil, you didn't know the damndest thing about her. You were always just a figment of her life to be tossed aside for her golden child, Mal. You spent years trying to become everything she'd ever wanted, and failed. Over and over. You were never enough for her.

You'd caught her attention here though. You were perfectly out of place for her to finally bat an eye to your presence. How ironic.

She slowly approaches from behind, her head slightly tilted, one arm crossed over her chest, her other hand held close to her face. She didn't know what to say, she just wanted to know who you were. You seemed so distantly familiar.

You quickly look over your shoulder, sensing her presence. She always felt like that, she always gave you that sixth sense. You walked on eggshells your whole life because of her. Her presence alone sent shivers up your spine.

"May I ask who you are?" she asks. "Where are you from, exactly?"

You blink, knowing you can't answer wholeheartedly. You couldn't tell her you were her kid, Y/n, one of two that she had with Hades on the Isle of the Lost.

"My name's Y/n. I'm... a transfer student. Far away place" you nod, quickly finding an excuse to give her, hoping she wouldn't see through you.

She slowly nods. "Your hair... I've never seen one of you with such a unique color. It doesn't look very... hero-like"

You glance back at Hades, who leans against a wall out of earshot, tossing his ember about. "Uh, yeah," you awkwardly chuckle. "I wouldn't say I'm a hero."

"Oh?" she smirks, quickly thinking to recruit you for whatever reason.

"I'm not staying for long," you quickly reply.

She nods, her smirk fading away. "Nice meeting you, I guess"

You nod, watching as she spins on her heels, returning to Hades, their hands intertwined as they depart, leaving you at the fountain alone again. You watch as they walk away, feeling the last fragments of your taped-together heart ripping apart.

All you wanted was to save that picture in your mind forever. To see them so content, to see them so proud of themselves. You really did ruin them. You'd ruin them in every timeline, and you couldn't fix it. You'd forever live knowing you broke them apart.

You did that to them.

And all you did was watch.

You knew you belonged with them, you knew you were supposed to be evil and follow in their footsteps. But you failed the moment you were born. Something just threw you off to her.

She couldn't ever love you.

At least she could pretend for Mal.

But what did you get? Nothing. Not even a thank you for trying to give her a second chance in that coronation hall. Not even a glance. You were invisible to her.

But here, you weren't invisible.

She wanted to know your name.

That was the most you'd ever gotten from her in your twenty years of life.

But you couldn't do anything. You couldn't ruin this for them so early on. You couldn't change their story to try and fix yourself. It doesn't work like that, you knew that. But something deep down inside wanted you to just reach out and make the most of it while you could.

You just wanted to know her. You just wanted to feel the warmth of her cold voice congratulating you for stealing candy from a baby or for scaring someone away, or lighting them on fire. It didn't matter. You wanted to make her proud. You watched on for years as Mal was her center of attention. Nothing you did was worthy for her to be proud of.

But here? You could make a difference.

A difference that wasn't worth making.

[basil-the-scorned]

Flufftober Alt 1: “I’ve got you”

Summary: Hangman is intense nowadays, to say the least. Even in thought. Or Adam has a bit of character bleed by accident.

Fandom: All Elite Wrestling

Characters: "Hangman" Adam Page, Nick Jackson

Additional Tags: Character Bleed (A bit of it), Platonic Relationship

AN: First alt for me! Also to note, this is all platonic. I tend to write people very touchy unless stated otherwise, it’s just part of my writing.

@flufftober

Adam was used to being dragged towards his doom. It was part of the fate he signed up for as soon as he decided he would be wrestling for the rest of his life. He wasn't always prepared for it but once he gets his footing somewhat on the ground, he finds a way to make it work.

This wasn't one of those times, at all. In fact, the weight he was using to stand his ground was failing him with each tug he was receiving. He wasn't going anywhere near what was awaiting him, not even when the pulls were almost getting to the point of being painful.

"It's not that...bad." Another tug, which made Adam hiss out. The pull slacked, but the person was still hanging on by Hangman's jacket sleeve. They weren't even anywhere near the ring, but instead outside of a movie theater showing some kind of movie he swore up and down he would not see.

"Not a chance in hell." Adam made it even more clearer by yanking his arm towards him and a laughing Nick bumping into his chest. Adam had to stand his ground, he had to. He knows the signs of a bad watch when he sees one, so why did he even let Nick bring him here?

"Come on, cowboy!" Every word was full of giggles, a far cry from how Nick would be in those stuffy bright suits and matching fedora hats on TV. All serious, would have probably left Hangman outside to watch the movie himself.

Then again, Hangman wouldn't even be out with him at all, still full of anger and spite for anyone that wronged him. He wouldn't be this playful with his words despite what he says, or let one of the Young Bucks try to guide him closer to the doors. Adam could imagine that cowboy, yelling at him at why was he away from his family--the family that literally pushed him out the door as soon as Nick whispered what movie they were seeing--or why wasn't Nicholas on the ground in front of him?

Back off, he mentally barks out at the cowboy. He didn’t want any parts of him today.

"Adam..." He wouldn't light up at his name being called out so softly, even if Nick was now frowning up at him. "You have that look again."

"What look?" Adam asked.

"Hanger's." The Bucks, both of their weaknesses, yet Hangman was the one that was taking things to the next level. Adam was able to walk away as soon as he saw those serious faces crack into smiles backstage, when they would mimic how he would stomp around in the ring.

Still, Hangman now had the tendency to linger sometimes when he least wanted it. He shakes his head, his hair rubbing a bit against his face. "How...how could you tell that?” He got hands picking at his shirt for a bit, before he got an answer.

“I don’t know. You look more…sad. ” 

Adam lets out some kind of a laugh, though it didn’t have any humor in it. He hit the nail pretty good on the head. “It’s something like that, I guess.”

“Well, that’s why,” Nick starts off, lightly pushing himself off of Adam to look at him with that same frown, “we need to go to this movie! Take your mind off of him.”  

“Do you even know what it’s about?” To that, he gets a shrug. 

“I only read the summary.” That didn’t sound promising at all. Worse, if it’s what he thinks it is, the poster was making his skin crawl with mismatched fonts and clashing colors on it.  “But I got you, just trust me on this.” Nick had once again grabbed the end of his jacket, only now he was turned towards the doors of the theater.

“Nick…” Adam barely begged, sort of resigning towards his fate.

[astermath]

memory lane ु ₓ｡

summary: you and robin recall your first kiss together, and you want a rematch.

word count: 1.1K

tags: established relationship, like a tiny bit suggestive, normal font below!

notes: hey why is literally NO ONE writing for robin?? she’s so cute and so lovely and so ahdkdkd i’m in love w her

The sound of Blondie’s latest album fills the room, accompanied by the scent of incense and opened nail polish. The beige carpet and dark blue walls of your room had long become familiar to Robin, who’d honestly been spending more time at your house than hers recently.

The window was open to make the summer heat somewhat bearable. You both sat on the floor, your back to her chest as you painted her nails for her. Her chin was placed onto the crown of your head, fully relaxed into you as if she was your blanket. It could have been 50 degrees hotter outside, and your girlfriend would still find a way to cuddle up to you. She was always kind of clingy like that, not that you’d ever complain about it.

You hummed along with “Heart of Glass”, stroking the brush over her short nails to paint them a pretty red. “To match your cute uniform,” you’d told her, and it made her feel a little better about how silly the sailor outfit looked.

You always had a way of making things sound a lot better or approachable, which was helpful with a major over thinker like herself. Even before she’d start nervously rambling about whatever she was worried about, you’d sense it, and say something to calm her down. Which usually worked. Not always. Sometimes you’d just have to let her ramble.

“All done,” you gently took her hand in yours, careful not to smudge your hard work, and held it up for her to see.

“Wow, that’s way better than how I usually do them.” she chuckled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Thanks baby.”

You giggled at her affection, her loose strands of blonde hair tickling your face. You’d made a habit out of doing Robin’s nails, her hair, her makeup… You were really good at anything beauty related, something she’d always admired about you.

“Remember when I did your nails the first time?” You turned your head so you could look at her, only to see the memory had brought a giddy smile to her face.

“How could I possibly forget? Was the best day of my life.” She chuckled. “Do you?”

You remembered it perfectly. Well, it was only four months ago, it would be pretty embarrassing if you didn’t. Still, the even the tiniest details were still so crisp in your mind.

The smell of her perfume when she hugged you goodbye at your doorstep.

The feeling of her hand in yours when you held it, keeping her from walking back out. Soft, but clammy.

The crooked, awkward smile she gave you, before she nodded, agreeing to stay a little longer in your room.

The nerves you both felt when you’d realized you’d never outwardly said this was a date, not the movie you both went to see, and not the time you spent in your bedroom. The fear of thinking the other might just see you as a friend, and that this would all be one big gay misunderstanding.

You specifically remember trying to gauge the situation when you were painting her nails for her, and tried to ask her about her type.

You recall how long it took for you to realize she’d been describing you.

You remember her hopeful smile. She remembers your surprised face, and the anticipation for rejection.

Only for you to grab her face and kiss her right then and there, almost knocking her over onto the scruffy carpet.

“I kinda wish I didn’t do it like that.” you confessed, cheeks warm from having just described your first ever kiss with Robin. Or with any girl, for that matter.

“Whaaaat?” Robin sat across you now, elbow leaned on her knees as she sat with her legs crossed. She’d been looking at you with a dreamy smile this entire time, wondering how she got so lucky. “For the record, I thought it was perfect.” She put her hands behind her on the carpet and leaned back, tilting her head slightly. “What would you have done different?”

“Well,” you sat on your knees, hands placed on your lap, “for starters, I would have been way smoother, like—“ You reach for her hand, pretending you’re doing her nails again. You trail your fingers up her arm, moving closer, until your hands settle on her shoulders. You’re looming over her, and she’s holding back from holding your hips for the sake of the scenario.

You flash a teasing smile, and Robin recognises that mischievous glint in your eyes, the one that makes her thighs rub together and her body tingle.

You reach out a hand, gently touching her cheek with the back of your fingers. “I’d ask you if you were into the type of girls that take care of you. That hold you, brush your hair… Do your nails…” You lean in, and whisper breathily over her lips, her eyes watching yours in anticipation. “The ones that…Take charge.” You straddle her hips and seal your lips together, her hands settling onto your hips and squeezing your soft skin there. She lets out what you can only make out to be a whimper into the kiss, her abdomen working hard to sit upright in this position.

That’s why you gently nudge her down onto the floor, hand holding the back of her head so it doesn’t come down with too much of an impact. You pull away from her, and she almost whines at the sudden loss of your lips on hers. You grin, reaching out to gently brush a lock from her face. “That’s how I’d do it.”

She just stares at you for a moment, so completely lovestruck and captivated by your beauty. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was, finding the loveliest, prettiest girl ever in Hawkins of all places. She figured she was going to be alone forever, or at least until she moved to a bigger city. Now she dreams of sharing that future with you instead.

“You okay baby?” You chuckle, a little proud that you’d managed to reduce her to a puddle so easily. You were both each other’s first girlfriends, so every kiss, every hug and every ‘I love you’ felt just a little different. A little better.

“Yeah, just uhm…” She breathed out a laugh, closing her eyes for a moment. “Wow.” She grinned. Sometimes it took a moment to truly take in that it was all real, that it wasn’t like those nights she’d laid awake dreaming of a life like this, no— you were there.

“Yeah,” you smile, full of adoration for the blonde girl beneath you. “Wow indeed.”

[vqrtualheartss]

CCan you do one where miles find out reader is literally obsessed with art and has a room alone for her drawings and paintings one of them being him

ᴅ☆ᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴀʏ|

9:12 pm This is my first request and I love you for it. Anyways, I'm trying to keep this one short and cute because I just realized I cannot make a story short for my life so yea lol.

The like, plot about the senior partner programme is taken from a book I read on wattpad called 'His Tesoro' by sjpwell and I heavily recommend you read it. heavily.

For fem readers, no specific race disclosed

Warnings — idk, bad grammar

In all honesty, deadass, I would've been asleep by now if not risking my hands to ink poisoning or that our teacher was picking the pairs for the annual senior partner programme. You'd basically share classes, be expected to hang out and by the end of the year write a report based on what you learnt about them. There wasn't anyone I was against being paired with but there wasn't anyone I was looking to either, all of them were the same people just different fonts, nothing interesting.

"And lastly we have Miss Valentine and Mr. Morales. Until your new schedules are emailed to you, you are expected to interchange the order of classes starting with the male's in the pair. Happy bonding"

Before I could get up, someone tilted down my phone screen, shifting my attention from it to them, the Mr. Morales— Miles. My nose slowly twitched, as I tried to fight the tug on my lips.

"Hi angel" I sighed, smiling at the nickname. Apparently my last name reminded him of Cupid and because Cupid's somewhat an angel, it makes me one

"Good morning Miles" pushing out my phone gesturing for him to hold it, I gathered my stuff preparing to head to his class. "Formal as always" he shook his head looking down at me with my bag on one shoulder, the other strap swaying freely. I shrugged at his comment, bringing out my hand to retrieve my phone, instead of handing it over, he held onto my hand, intertwining them as he examined the free-styled drawings.

"Talent much? Cool if you could put some on me?" He smiled widely, dangling my phone in his other hand as some type of persuasion. The smile grew evident in my voice, "Alright". I mean, why not, for his half of classes I didn't have to do anything in them so might as well.

"These dopee. Y'know low-key we should get matching ones sometime" . I smiled, "Maybe"

Annoyed at my frequent one word responses he turned around to face me as I slipped from underneath his arm " I hope you're not gonna be like this when I come by later."

Standing infront him with my mouth slightly agape, I questioned, my arms mirroring his crossed ones. "When you do what?"

"How else are we supposed to get to know eachother? And I'm guessing you're eager to kick me out and wrap this up" Narrowing my eyes, I pinched and rubbed my nose bridge.

There weren't many reasons why he couldn't stay over but they held alot of weight, one being my art room and two I'd probably make a fool of myself.

Looking up at him to protest, he swiftly transferred his initialized chain from his neck to mine before walking off and shouting, "Text me the directions and I'll be there" .

I dragged a hand down my face, I was going to send him them but that bitch.

knock knock, the door creaked open as a faint light faltered to the floor

"Miles? If that's you come in" "Woww, now imagine if I was a serial killer" Taking off his jacket, he continued "You would've been dead by now"

I shrugged , eyes never leaving the sketchbook propped on my right knee. He turned around, a dead expression on his face as he dragged the book from my lap "Nah, you gave your word" I most definitely did not

"Okay, fine, my attention's yours and yours only. Happy?" I gave him a tight-lipped smile as he sat on my bed, flipping through the pages "very" .

I remained a neutral expression as if my heart wasn't waiting to jump outside my chest.

Recently he's been the center of attention of my art and obviously I don't need him to see that. My heart rate calmed, his eyebrows furrowing, the pages seemingly went blank "I thought you drew more than this?" "I recently started that sketchbook,"

My expression softened, smiling internally as relief took over my body. However, my mind went as blank as the pages. Where the hell are those drawings then ?.

He hummed, moving from the bed to the office chair. He slid it over beside me before holding onto the chain with a finger of his, bringing me even closer to him.

"This makes it look like you belong to me in some way".

I copied his 'hm' in response despite my stomach flipping on end. He tugged on the chain releasing it. "I swear to god I'm going to make you talk. One way or another" leaning back into the chair manspreading, I smiled while maintaining a scowl. "Ew, you look like a man"

"Oh so now you speak?" He scoffed before continuing "Where's your bathroom" "Straight down, first door on your..." I paused a bit unsure of the direction to tell him ".. right, first door on your right"

He leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms "Don't know your directions by now?" "Get out"

Glancing at the time on my phone a few times, it took me a while to register that Miles was gone for more than 20 minutes "That's weird". Heading outside, I shuffled to the bathroom that he would've went to find it empty. I stood with my hands wrapped around my torso trying to figure his whereabouts. Shit. I went to the one place I hope he wasn't, my art room.

Approaching said room I saw the door slightly ajar, his shadow lingering on the walls. Without a plan I went inside, harshly biting down on my lip to brace myself for future embarrassment.

"You really weren't going to show me this?" I nervously laughed, eyes darting around the room inspecting for any sketches, drawings or paintings with him as the centerpiece. My eyes lingered on a drawing of Miles a little longer than I should've, he sent himself in the direction of my gaze. I shut my eyes, squeezing my fists tighter with each passing second. He took up the sketchbook situated on the desk, twirling through the recent pages before turning.

"Is this me?" His eyebrows drawing nearer as he grinned. I bit harder onto my lip before attempting to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation, even if it was just on my side. "No?"

"Looks an awful lot like me" Placing the book into its original position he folded his arms, sitting infront the desk

"I do not have the mental capacity for this" I sighed, shaking my head. A bead of blood formed on my lips.

Looking up and down my frustration filled body, he replied "Got me on your mind a lot, huh?" Laughing at his own teasing, I used the base off my hands to rub my eyes viciously, an honest attempt to push in my eyeballs.

Morphing into a ball of embarrassment, a smug expression splashed on his face. Hissing my teeth, the colours of his eyes went onyx as he stared. I returned his challenging gaze before he stood up, walking over and standing dangerously close.

Towering over my height, he smirked holding my chin between two fingers. What the fuckk. In that second I felt.. wierd, warm and fuzzy on the inside.

IDK HOW TO END THIS SO I DIDN'T.

©vqrtualheartss 2023 ©dae 2023

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Are you comfortable writing doctor( the character as the doctor) x reader nsfw stuff?( it’s medical play basically) It’s okay if you’re not comfortable, i respect the right to accept or deny requests as per your thoughts on this topic. And if you do write for it then can you do it for ran it benkei?

YES I AM COMFY WITH THIS... hopefully I did this right? It's hella long for each one, but the plot unfolds and is worth it!

The Doctor Will See You Now: Ran Haitani / Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.8k

tw: nsfw

masterlist

Ran Haitani - The Plastic Surgeon

"You want a breast reduction?"

You clutch your hands in your lap and nod, looking at the handsome, short-haired medical professional across you. His white coat proclaims "R. Haitani" in a purple serif font that matches his hair color, but you're not amused by that. You've seen his Instagram; this is the least of your concerns. If you could even call them that.

"Why?" He taps his pen against his cheek, and you sigh, clenching your jaw. "Let me guess. Your lover said something about them being 'too big.'" You look up and catch his eyes, a knowing look lingering behind them. "I've been in this business for almost a decade. I know a forced surgery when I see one." Ran stands and adjusts his lab coat before beginning his trek over to you. He sits on the edge of the desk and faces you, his eyes roaming up and down your physique.

"Let me see them."

Your lips part in shock, but Ran remains still, the pen in his hand now tapping against his thigh. "Go on. Take your top off."

"It's a dress," you murmur, standing to your feet shakily and unlacing it from behind. The dress falls open, and for a moment, you consider unhooking your bra.

"I'll help you." Ran walks around to unhook your bra, his fingers warm against your cold skin. The bra falls to the ground soundlessly, and you stand in the middle of the surgeon's office, bare except for your underwear. The plastic surgeon returns to look at each breast, taking your right one in his hand and cupping it lightly. You shiver at his touch, and your nipples perk up, showing off your obvious arousal. "You don't want a reduction, do you?"

"Not really," you admit, looking down at your feet.

"Then I can't perform surgery on you. It's an elective surgery, so I can't do it without your desire unless your quality of life will be impaired."

"But my boyfri--" Ran frowns, searching your face again.

"Is he in the waiting room?" You nod silently, looking the surgeon in his eyes. "I'd like him to come and speak with me. Will you go get him?"

"What will you tell him?" you wonder, redressing reluctantly.

"I'll tell him what he needs to hear. It's only right." You get your boyfriend and usher him into Ran's office, trying not to seem anxious.

"I just wanted to talk with you about care since you're her boyfriend," Ran offers politely, motioning toward a seat across from his desk. "Do you two live together?"

"Not yet," your boyfriend answers. "We'll be getting a house soon, though."

"With your money or her money?" Your boyfriend's eyes flash, but ran holds up his hands. "I'm just trying to determine who the primary payer will be for this operation."

"Her money," the man answers glibly. "She makes a ton of money with her new job." Ran nods, placing his chin on his laced-together fingers.

"Will you be able to care for her for up to four weeks post-op?"

"Like, round-the-clock care?" Ran nods slowly. "I... I have things to do, you know. Might have to hire someone." The doctor gets up from his seat and walks over to your boyfriend, just like he did to you before, sitting on the edge of his desk. But this time, he doesn't have a pen in his hands.

"You're willing to pay out of pocket for a nurse?" Before your boyfriend can answer, Ran grabs him by his shirt front, glaring at him while he hisses, "With your money?" Your boyfriend stammers a shoddy response, to which Ran responds by backing him against the office door.

"Give me her keys."

"W-what?" Slap.

"Her keys, you leech!" Shaking fingers produce your car keys, your apartment keys, and a single mailbox key. "Tell her 'thank you' for putting up with your bullshit." Your boyfriend glances at you, a plea to help him hidden behind his eyes, but you just stare at him wide-eyed.

"Say it!"

"T-thank you for putting up with my b-bullshit, y/n!"

"Tell her you'll never bother her again!"

"I'll-I'll never bother you again!"

Ran lets the man go, then returns to his desk after handing you your keys. "I'll have the front desk call you an Uber back to your place. Now get the fuck out of my sight."

"I'll... I'll sue you for this," the man barks, shaking furiously against the wall.

"Who would believe you?" With those four words, your now ex-boyfriend scrambles out of the room and leaves the two of you alone. Ran sighs loudly, pressing his fingers to his temples. "His breath reeked of booze."

"Thanks," you whisper meekly. "No one's ever--"

"Think nothing of it." Ran slides you his card, suddenly recovered from his headache. "Call me sometime. I'd love to take you out now that you're single."

You think the desk is comfortable with your legs wrapped around your white knight. "S-sorry," Ran mutters in your ear, his hips stuttering as his desk shakes. "Couldn't wait until the end of the day."

"Wanted me so bad, huh?" Ran licks down your chest, stopping to appreciate your breasts with little kisses and hickies left over your flesh. "We had dinner planned--"

"I'll have to reschedule the reservation..." Ran's eyes glance at the clock but then return to your face. "No harm, no foul, eh?"

"Just keep fucking me," you urge him, feeling his cock twitch inside you when you clench around him. "Feels so damn good."

"Glad you didn't get that breast reduction," Ran hisses, nuzzling one of them carefully. "They're so divine. Like pillows." He places your nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue over it while sucking as hard as possible. "And so sensitive..." As if to demonstrate, Ran lightly bites the nipple before licking it to ease the pain. "You're a fucking goddess."

Keizo Arashi - The General Surgeon

"Well, if it isn't my frequent flyer," Keizo Arashi muses, flipping the charts in his hand. "What brings you in here this time, missy?"

"Got a little cut here," you admit, showing the buff man your hand.

"Looks like you need some stitches," he answers, turning your hand to and fro. "How'd you get this one?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Keizo chuckles, shaking his head and writing the injuries down on the papers before turning around.

"I'll be right back. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"No promises!" you yell after him, smirking. Being the town's local idiot wasn't so bad. You think about all the times you've stumbled into Keizo's domain with a flesh wound, only for him to sew you up and send you back into the world with an admonishment or playful remark about your tool handling.

"You need to invest in better gloves," Keizo murmurs as he wanders back into the room, holding his suture kit with both hands. All these years, you'd wondered how the giant man had such dexterity with a needle, but your question had been answered simply with "he just does." "Or invest in less dangerous glass."

"Hey," you counter, holding your uninjured hand up. "I didn't hurt both this time."

"Glad for it," Keizo quips, looking at your injured hand and holding it in his palm. "I would hate to be the one that has to wipe your ass."

"You're an asshole. You don't even come by to see what I make with my hands."

"I don't like seeing trash, is all." He applies some antiseptic, which makes you hiss. "Lords knows what you do with your hands all day."

"I'll show you what I can do with my hands," you snap. Keizo looks up at you with his ice-blue eyes and smirks.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Not like that." But you're not so sure. Keizo takes the needle out, and you turn away, trying not to pale. It's no secret that you two flirt non-stop when you're in the same area. It's been a thing for years but has yet to come to fruition. Not into a full-fledged relationship, at least.

"Still afraid of needles..." He chuckles as you tense up, squeezing your eyes shut. "You'd think after being her two-hundred-and-one out of the three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of the year, you'd get over your fear."

"Exposure therapy doesn't work on me."

"Obviously." The silence grows as Keizo continues his sewing. You're thankful you can't feel it, but part of you wants to glance at your wound anyway. "Done." You look at your hand and see it's been sewn up neatly. "Won't leave a jagged scar or anything. Now let me bandage it up and get you out of here."

"How many days until I can--"

"Not until you get those stitches out."

"But I have--"

"And I have other non-repeat offenders in my lobby. But here we are."

"Kei." The sound of his nickname makes him pause as he washes his hands. "You'll come by to help me, won't you?"

"Stained glass isn't my thing anymore, y/n." You pout as he turns around, wiping his hands with a paper towel. Keizo sighs, tossing the paper into the trashcan before putting his hands in the pockets of his mint green scrubs. "I'll come by on the weekends. But you owe me."

"Yay!" You hop down from the gurney and place your arms around him before kissing his cheek. "You're the best surgeon around."

"The only surgeon around."

"Mind if I repay you right now?" Keizo's eyes flick from the open door to you, and he exhales sharply, a smile tugging at his lips.

"What're you thinking?"

"Close the door. Let me do the honors of helping you... relax."

"No hands."

"Scout's honor." Keizo closes and locks the door before leaning against it and cooking his finger at you. He fishes his cock out from his pants and fists it, showing off his erection. You get on your knees and lick up the base of his cock, following the sound of his sighs and moans while you lick the tip repeatedly.

"That's my girl..." Keizo leans back and places a hand on your head, guiding you as you suck his cock. "So good at this. Why'd we ever stop?"

"Med school," you answer with a mouthful of his dick. Keizo grunts, lacing his fingers through your hair.

"Damn." You finally manage to get most of his cock down your throat when he grabs your head with both hands and begins to fuck your face. Saliva coats his dick liberally, and you feel tears leak out of your eyes, each one running down your pretty face. Keizo looks down at you and pants softly, listening to your gagging noise with pleasure. "Should've been a dentist so I can say I'm giving you an oral exam, huh?"

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

His favourite restaurant

Tasm!Peter Parker x bestfriend!reader

Summary: Peter lost a game of chess, now he had to cook dinner.

Warnings/tags: nothing but tooth rotting fluff, flatmate!bestfriend!reader, peter being stupidly in love, Star Wars.

Word count: 2k

A/n: this is a little self indulgent thing I started writing at 3 am. It’s currently 5 am. But I hope you enjoy!

“Spider-Man saves the day once again, today find out how…”

The endless chatter from the small tv drowned like background noise as they both sat on the carpeted floor. Peter had brought home an old chess board he had found at the thrift store down the street. It was old, the pieces were built of wood, thick and tall. It looked like an expensive board much to its being found at a thrift store. So, much to your complaints, he decided it would be a great idea for you both to play against each other.

“And..check” He glanced towards you before making his final move. A smirk crawling up his plump lips. Sure, he had a few tricks up his sleeve, but you were no stranger to the chess arena, either. “Nuh uh…look again, Skater boy.” Pointing towards the knight and rook that had surrounded his king, the move he was currently trying to make was only going to put his king in a difficult position…checkmate.

“Checkmate.” You stated, sitting back up with your legs crossed you extended your right hand towards him. He looked up, brown puppy eyes looking inspecting your hand like it was something alien.

“How did you do that?” He questioned, looking more in disbelief than you had initially thought.

You shrugged, smirking. “Call it beginner's luck.”

Moving your hand back towards, encouraging a shake.

“Win with dignity, lose with dignity.” You spoke up again. “We shake hands after games because it’s a sign of respect no matter the outcome.” You continued.

The light streaming from the window across the room was making it really difficult for you to keep your eyes focused. From here, the orange and pink streams glided their way in, bouncing beautifully off of Peter’s hair. It looked as though he had a halo right above him. Pale skin glowing underneath the dying sunlight as he sat up, matching your position and taking your hand in his. It caused an electric impulse to travel right up your spine. You shuddered under his warm touch as he softly shook your hands up and down. Dropping it after a few long seconds.

“Loser makes dinner, remember?” You reminded him teasingly. He groaned in response, throwing his head back on the couch as he covered his eyes with the heel of his palms. He wasn’t a bad cook, not at all. May had taught him well around the kitchen. He was just too lazy to do so sometimes. And today was only one of those days.

“Can I do it tomorrow, please?” He pleaded, soft brown orbs glowing in the light as he leaned against you, pouting. “I’ll clean the dishes instead.” He added quickly. Knowing that you were a sucker for not doing them when the sink had piled up on a busy morning or after late night dinners.

You juggled with his proposal. Consider it for a minute or two before an idea lights up in the dark of your mind.

“What if we both cook together?” You counter-proposed. As Peter nodded a little too aggressively in agreement, you laughed.

Carefully standing to stretch the numbing feeling out of your legs as Peter sat there with his head on the couch. Staring. You could have felt his gaze even from a mile away. Scarlet blood rushed up your neck and towards your cheeks as you tried to busy yourself with something.

Peter was staring. He knew he was. But just couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from your figure in the dim light of your shared apartment as the sun set from behind the windows. You looked like an angel, in your long Christmas Pajamas, a shirt that had ‘Merry Sithmas’ written in the middle of it in a big, Star Wars font. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Once you had managed to fully get your feet to wake. Turning the TV off, you gestured to Peter to come along towards the small area that was your kitchen. Soft feet padding down towards the small area as Peter was left to gather his thoughts in the next minute. He glanced back towards where you had once been, now shifting into the kitchen and taking out the bit pucks needed for dinner. He liked nights like these. Where it was you and him and some random tv noises. The whole world just melted away and it was only you and him.

“You coming or not, Parker?” You shouted from across the room. Breaking his chain of thoughts. He looked dazed. Wisps of soft hair in messed all directions. He shifted his head towards you, still on the floor, not moving.

“Be right there, bub.” He reassured you. Rubbing a hand down his face as he gets up, cleaning up the mess of chess pieces on the floor and arranging it again on the coffee table.

Peter joins you in the kitchen a good minute or two after you had called for him. You had turned on the small radio in the window sill, old 80s soft rock pouring around the kitchen. As you both fall in a smooth rhythm, working your way into the process before Peter stops abruptly in the middle of the kitchen, stopping you from moving towards the other side to your chicken.

“Wait, did we discuss what’s for dinner?” He questions. Which makes you halt your tracks as well, as you tried maneuvering your way from his side.

“I thought we could make our Chinese order.” You commented, matter of factly. Peter stood there, his emotions evident on his features as a smile appeared on his face.

“You got the recipe?” He asks in disbelief as you nod profusely, mirroring his smile.

“Yeah, Mrs. Kim said if I asked for it as a Christmas present she might consider giving it. Turns out she wasn’t kidding” You laughed. Moving past Peter, towards your (seasoned) chicken and putting it into a pot of boiling water.

Before you could move to cover the lid of it, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your waist, lifting and twirling you as you let out a squeal. Scolding Peter to put you down so you don’t knock over the boiling pot of chicken. Peter laughed at your protests, only going faster as you both laughed your heads off.

Setting you down, his hands stayed out on the dip of your waist. Turning you around to face him, his face held an unreadable expression. Earthy orbs moving between your own and then your lips. Soft, filled with joy and something else you couldn’t quite place. Before you could fully decipher it, Peter leaned in. Hands shifting to the low of your back as he nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing you in.

It took you a second to come to your senses before you wrapped your arms around his neck. Reciprocating the hug back.

You felt his lips move against the base of your neck as your eyes closed in delight. But they opened right back as you realised he was probably trying to say something.

Removing the grip you had on him, you leaned back. Still in the intimate range you had once been in but more comfortable.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” You apologised. Gesturing him to repeat himself.

“I said: Thank you.” He repeated. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. Registering your lack of answer and the blown out look you had on your face, he continued:

“It was Ben’s favorite place. It was where he and May went for their first date actually.”

You were shook. Emotionally and mentally. You had known Uncle Ben for quite some time before he died. He was a great man. Always so kind and caring. You had spent a few nights at Peter’s to know he was a great cook (somehow managing to joke that it was better than May’s cooking).

After he passed, it was not easy seeing May and Peter cope with his death. It wasn’t easy for them, either . And for Peter to share that place with you, now. It somehow managed to sting your eyes before salty tears started pouring their way out.

“Aww, bub don’t cry. I was only saying thank you.” He cooed, feeling his own tears pooling at the edge of his eyes. He pulled you back into his arms as you sniffled. Slightly soaking a patch into his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I know you miss him, I didn’t know what that place meant to you. I’m sorry.” You cried a little more into him. His chest tighted, something pulled at his heart strings as he watched you cry for his Uncle. It wasn’t like you hadn’t heard of his death. You simply didn’t cope well with abrupt deaths.

“Sshh..it’s alright. Maybe he is happily looking over us right now.” He comforted, looking up towards the ceiling and imagining Ben, looking down on him with a smile on his face.

He hears the radio, a familiar tune dancing it’s way into his ears as he looks towards you. Taking a step back, and dropping his hands from you. You immediately miss his touch but before you could question his movements he offers you his hand. You look at him, confused before you recognise the familiar tune from the radio: Time after time by Cyndi Lauper.

“Dance with me, Y/n.” He says, with a smile so intoxicating that you couldn’t bring yourself to protest.

So you nod, taking his hand in yours as he twirls you around. A hand behind his back, the other above your head, spinning. Moving you out at an arms length and twirling you back in, flush against his chest and back again before he has you pressed against his chest, laughter filled with heavy breathing.

There is that look again, the soft smile, the puppy eyes with pupils blown out and…tenderness. He looked at you like you’d hung the moon and stars. He licked his lips. His eyes darted between your eyes and lips, slowly leaning in as if he were being cautious that a sudden movement would scare you away. You met him halfway, a hand at the back of his neck as dry lips met chapped ones.

It was gentle, and tender, like the ones writers describe in books. With butterflies in stomachs and fireworks and the smell of home mixed with him. You couldn’t think straight. Your lips danced against each other, perfectly fit before you were left gasping for air.

“Woah-”

“Wow-”

You both whispered, words overlapping against each other before Peter pulled you back in. It was more passionate this time. His arms enveloped you completely and you busied your hands into his hair, tugging and pulling before small groans were heard from Peter. He pressed against you as you started walking backwards till your back hit the kitchen counter. His hands were all over you, your neck, waist, hips.

He was all over you before you knew it, until a burning smell hit your nostrils and you gasped into his mouth. The chicken that you had forgotten to cover was now raging, the water overflowing out of the pot. Making a mess on the stove.

You broke away from Peter, gently pushing him away to grab the pot lid and slowing down the heat to stop the chicken from over cooking. As you looked back towards the brunette boy, who was still standing near the counter, touching his lips as if it weren’t there. You realised, you were in love with Peter Parker.

[lizardsarecute]

Made a lot of comic progress that I've been really proud of, but it's more on the technical learning side lol

Clip studio has some really seamless comic workflows built into the program, it's really nice

re-organized the Chapter 5 file from group folders to CSP's webtoon template. I can swap pages around freely, batch save and export all the pages at once. Copypaste elements between pages with ease. so fucking good ugh. It takes more time to set up, but the payoff is incredible and I'm so glad I caught it this early. Plus the vertical overview makes planning compositions to the script so much easier, because it will be an accurate reflection of the comic when posted on ao3. Looking at the old group folders again and man. This was definitely a pain. Fucken...hiding and unhiding folders and trying to imagine pages in a vertical layout. how tf did I live like this.

csp has a dialogue balloon tool that can automatically link the bubble to text where you can edit them together and separately. I took some time copying my cleanup pen's settings to the freehand balloon pen so it looks more in style

Also made a font for my handwriting, so it would match the style from earlier chapters. Just cleaner and more editable. Don't have to erase and rewrite so the hands get more drawing time. Nice.

I've had Lazy Nezumi for *checks notes*....almost 3 years now. It's a windows app that's for line stabilization but it's my go to for perspective rulers since it's so robust. I haven't actually used it as much until now. And learning how to do perspective manually actually helped a Lot in deep-diving into this program. So yeah, spend a week making boxes and cylinders with this app in csp and building things. (if you made it this far here's a bonus wip pep workshop. She had me watching a lot of interesting videos of things I did not understand)

Setup a whole bunch of auto actions for repetitive tasks. We'll definitely continue to add onto this as we go.

I'm also continuing to build up my reference library from the models in-game. There's so much and I am so thrilled about seeing all the models and bg assets in detail.

on the writing side, I've pretty much laid out the whole plot line and the important beats out. Have several pages of first draft dialogue for all of them too. I am having such a good time! I love learning shit like this!! This year has probably been the most fulfilling year I've had artistically in a long long time--Thanks game!!!

(me getting lost in the sauce of detail work. "ah yes, THIS is my happy place")

[dykebeeduo]

ctommy + 😇 a headcanon about their religion/lack thereof (or any character if you dont wanna do dsmp/ctommy)

oh my god yes oh a hundred percent yes, i can talk about ctommy religion (and dsmp religion in general) FOR DAYS!!!!

okay so to start a bit of backstory, about me and my ideas around dsmp religion, in january i started writing a pre SMP, cannon? what cannon?, c!dnf religion fic..... theres no punchline that is just something that i wrote in january 2022. i didnt finish it, nor did i get a chapter done enough to publish but i planned out the whole fic and i spent HOURS thinking about dsmp religion, and yes that included tommy.

so very early on i established what religion on the smp looked like, it was modeled after the denomination i grew up in in terms of "progressiveness" aka matching the smps established homonormativity, as well as the ideals that i grew up with being normal in terms of a "good congregation" (emphasis on children, and teaching them, it sounds weird its not weird it links back to jesus and his preachings about the importance of children in congregations) MIXED with a more anglican british/english canadian countryside parrish cerca 1910 in terms of visuals and community. the parish being the center of the social scene, hosting both religious as well as legal and social functions, and a widdle bit of catholicism to add a little bit of spice, i also established that my version of church prime worshiped dreamDX (it links back to the plotline, basically george was having dreams where he was being confronted by dxd to "save prime" from eret, who was under a funky herobrine spell and was trying to end life as they knew it)

alright! i think that a good primer on my idea of dsmp religion, basically its progressive protestant christianity but with a rural and nostalgic feeling in terms of what church was.

okay so here in all of its glory is what i wrote for ctommy in my notes doc for this now abandoned fic....

Tommy is like 8 and is a karen of the primble, he is church primes youngest and most prolific devotees, he can often be found around in the holy-land with tubbo or ranboo making daisy chains or spying on Eret and her herobrine shenanigans.

because it was precanon i aged down tommy tubbo and ran, but i knew that i needed one of them to be very devote to make the social and political ramifications of the plot (dream was gonna be all torn up about his faith when george opened upto him about his dream of dxd) seem real, its very hard for adult religious characters to come across as genuine without becoming cardboard standees of XYZ religion stereotypes, but with kids (imho) you can make them and their beliefs more believable and translatable to an audience without falling into these stereotypes.

of the small amount of the fic that i wrote it actualy featured more tubbo then tommy (tubbo runs into foolish and gets a bump on the head before church and it hurts not just because foolish is made of gold but because tubbo has little baby horn buds growing in, this scene just sets up doctor ponk for background samponk/foolponk/samfoolish, oh and yeah foolish is the decon, and dream is the minister) but i did give tommy tiny bit of characterization writing simply

“It made a clanging noise” Tommy the most devoted of the three adds.*

*the thing that made a clanging noise was tubbo running into foolish

after dream takes a look at tubbo's injury this little bit happens (and its my favortie part that i actualy wrote for the fic)

...Tubbo yells neatly knocking me over with how quickly he grabs my hand and stands up before grabbing he turns towards Tommy and Ranboo, grabbing one of each of their hands and begins running full speed towards the baptismal font, the three of cupping their hands underneath the flowing water before bringing it up to their mouths and splashing any remaining water on each other...

JJUST JUST FUCKING AWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LOOK AT THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!! DFGUOCDYVUPQA

okay and the last part that got written that meantioned tommy was this small bit of him (aged like 7ish) interacting with little baby fundy flora who is two (yes fundy is a girl, me likey like trans fundy headcanons and also itsmybrolbo.png, also fundy being two and simultaneously acticling 5ish is explained about by him being a strange hybrids (also wilbur makes a joke about fish sex in his three minute conversation with dream))

“Okay!” And with that Flora is off running towards the baptismal font where Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo have sat down and started playing with marbles.

JUST FUCKING AWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!

so yeah, all this to say i think ctommy is a very religious character, his devotion to prime/dxd is based on his desire for spiritual "wealth" that is promised through "primes" something that i interpret to be something that the character feels like a warmth in the heart that they get if they prey enough.however something that i touch on in the epilogue (the epilogue is the walls being put up around lmanbeyrg) tommy grows to think of primes not as something that you get when you prey, but as something that you get when yo do something that makes a scene, like killing someone, or setting shit on fire, he grows more and more restless and eventually stop praying taking to chaos to get primes.

anyways, writing thi9s huge long post about ctommy and dsmp religion is making me want to cannibalize this wip more then i already did, possibly release a few bits like the entire scene of tubbo running into foolish, or the part about wilbur and fundy (also its fridgebur!!! hes fridgebur, i love fridgebur so much) so i think reworking this wip, and writing out dream is moving very quickly up my todo list.

[msbarrows]

Between things like the "moleskine's are bad" post going around again, and following several calligraphers online, I found myself thinking back to when I got into using cartridge pens back in high school (a relative of fountain pens, with a replaceable plastic capsule of ink inside them). I had terrible hand-writing at the time, to the point I sometimes had difficulty reading my own notes from class.

I'd bought a cartridge pen out of interest in trying calligraphy, both for the ability to do fancy writing and in hopes my cursive would improve in readability. Which it did not.

Then one day I had the bright idea... what if I tried writing my class notes with the cartridge pen? And not in cursive - just a simple printed font that was one of my current favourites. So I gave it a shot.

Yes, my notes were now legible. But printing with a calligraphy pen vs cursive with a pencil or ballpoint took so much longer. It kind of delighted the other students that I was having to ask the teacher to not erase a board yet since I was still copying down the notes on that one. More than once. In more than one class. For several days running while I got up to speed.

I don't know how none of the teachers lost their cool over it, but they mostly seemed amused and tolerant, and were willing to wait the extra minute or two while I frantically finished my notes before moving on to writing the next board full of notes. It's a surprisingly good memory, for such a little thing -the delight of my classmates, the patience of the teachers.

I ended up using the cartridge pen for note-taking right through my first year in college - multiple pens by that point actually, since I had a set of four different coloured pens to match the different coloured inks I was using (black, blue, red, and green). After that gel pens (invented while I was in high school, first being commercially manufactured shortly before I graduated) became widely available and I switched away from my annoyingly leaky cartridge pen to gel pens quite happily. Though I've never gone back to cursive; 40-odd years later and I still print almost everything. I can still write in cursive, I just can't be bothered most of the time. Though at least my cursive has improved considerably, though that's mainly a side-effect of my having to go slower and consciously think about doing joined-up writing instead of just scrawling it as fast as possible.

[rubysunnday]

it’s a love story

a/n: this is a looonnnggg one, but i enjoyed writing it a lot. Thank you to @gryffindors-weasley who’s stories have inspired this one - if you want more sweet Colin please go read their stories!

words: 3,703

summary: Y/N has loved Colin since they were children but it was one-sided. She was content to stand aside and watch Colin move on without her. Until Marina.

Unrequited love hurt.

It was easy to lose yourself in night-time fantasies of a life with the one person you loved - dreaming of your wedding, your house and the day they confessed their feelings to you.

Y/N had loved Colin ever since she’d been a child. It’d started off as nothing more than platonic love - they’d been best friends since childhood, and they’d stayed close over the years as they both grew up and turned into something that vaguely resembled adults.

She’d never revealed how she felt to him. Y/N didn’t want to tell him and run the risk of ruining their friendship. She simply stood aside and watched him flirt with and at almost every woman in London. It never bothered her - it was how Colin was. He flirted and played around but never settled.

Until Marina.

Y/N hadn’t thought twice about how he flirted at Marina. Admittedly, it had hurt to see how close they’d been at Daphne’s wedding party and how besotted Colin seemed to be with her. But Y/N had just thought Marina was another passing fancy who would be married and vanished after the season ended.

But the garden party changed that.

She hadn’t wanted to go. Ever since Daphne’s wedding she’d been keeping her distance from Colin and the Bridgerton House in general, not wanting to set herself up for anymore heart ache and pain then what she was mentally prepared for.

As her carriage pulled up to the gardens, Y/N felt her hands begin to shake. It was ridiculous how nervous she was - nothing had even happened yet! She was just nervous to see Colin and have to disguise her feelings from him and Marina.

Before the wheels of her carriage had even stopped rolling, Eloise ran over and flung open the door, looking up at Y/N expectantly. Benedict reluctantly chased after his sister after his mother shoved him in Eloise’s vague, general direction.

Eloise squinted up at her, attempting to read Y/N’s mind. “Nope, you’re not running away,” she said, reaching up and grabbing her friends’ hand and practically pulling her out the carriage, sensing Y/N’s desire to be anywhere other than there.

“Oh, Eloise, don’t start,” Y/N complained, barely catching herself on Benedict’s outstretched arm as she missed the step entirely and lost her footing.

“If I have to suffer, you have to suffer,” Eloise replied, almost pouting.

Y/N sighed, still clutching Benedict’s arm as she regained her sense. “Eloise, I don’t want to be here. I can’t cope with... well, that,” she waved a hand in the vague general direction of where Colin was.

“And I can’t cope with my mother doing what she does best,” Eloise shot back, snatching Y/N’s hand and pulling her into the gardens. “Now, come along, dear Y/N.”

Not trusting her friend, Y/N grabbed Benedict’s hand and dragged the man along with her, ignoring his muttered complaints as he reluctantly followed after his sister.

Everything seemed to be going fine. Y/N hovered around Benedict and Anthony, making small talk with the two and strategically avoiding looking at or being in the vicinity of Colin and having to talk to him.

Every time she looked over at him, he was with Marina, smiling dumbly at something she’d said and looking stupidly doe-eyed at her.

Marina hadn’t done anything to Y/N and was probably a lovely person, but she still infuriated Y/N beyond belief for no reason at all. Her mere existence irritated her.

Benedict looked up, having asked Y/N a question that had been met with silence. He noticed her staring at Colin and nudged Y/N’s arm. “Stop staring.”

Y/N blinked and turned her head away from Colin, plucking an invisible thread off the cuff of her dress. “Thanks,” she muttered quietly. She hadn’t realised she’d been noticeably staring.

Despite never saying anything, both Eloise and Benedict - and presumably the rest of the Bridgerton household since neither sibling could keep their mouths shut - knew about Y/N’s unrequited love for Colin.

When they’d been children, Colin and Y/N had gotten ‘married’ in the back garden of Bridgerton House. It’d been a big event involving all the family and the staff and had ultimately ended in the two getting a ‘divorce’ that evening when Colin threw a carrot at Y/N. But it’d been obvious even then how perfect they were for the other.

Y/N looked up as someone gently knocked their knife against their glass. Her heart almost stopped when she realised it was Colin and that Marina was standing next to him looking very pleased.

“May I have everyone’s attention?” Colin asked as silence fell over the gathered party.

Y/N was trying not to think the worse. She could see the confusion on Anthony’s face at what his brother was about to do but Y/N knew, deep down, what was about to happen.

“I would like to make a small but important announcement,” Colin continued, practically beaming. “I have happy news to impart.”

Y/N could hear her heart beating. She knew what was coming. There was nothing else that Colin could say that would make sense and that would make Marina smile so much. She unconsciously reached out her hand and grabbed Anthony’s arm, squeezing it tightly.

“I have asked Miss Marina Thompson to be my wife, and she has accepted.”

Everyone around them gasped in delight. Benedict was smiling, Lady Featherington was beaming, and Anthony looked like he was about to throttle someone.

Y/N felt as if her entire life was falling apart in front of her. She’d lost the one thing that meant everything to her to someone else. Her grip on Anthony’s arm increased and he looked over at her.

“Smile,” Anthony whispered, despite his own surprise and anger. “And go congratulate them.”

It took a moment for Y/N’s mind to realise that Anthony had even spoken. But a moment later she nodded, plastered a smile to her face and approached Colin and Marina with false joy and gratitude despite the fact her heart was breaking apart inside her.

For the rest of the week, Y/N stayed at home. Despite the invitation being extended to her to join the Featherington’s and a few of the Bridgerton’s for dinner, she declined it, unable to bear the pain of seeing Colin and Marina stare lovingly at one another.

The seventh day of hiding dawned annoyingly early and Y/N, who felt as if she hadn’t slept in months, found herself pottering around her house with no purpose in mind.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

Y/N turned around to face her butler. “Yes, Simmons?”

“Miss Eloise Bridgerton is here to see you, ma’am. She’s refusing to leave.”

Y/N sighed and pursed her lips. “Of course, she is,” she muttered. “Where is she?”

Simmons gestured to the lounge and Y/N headed down the corridor towards the room.

“Eloise, I swear -” Y/N cut herself off abruptly at the pained yet excited look on Eloise’s face as the woman ran up to her and all but crashed into her.

“The engagement is off,” Eloise said all at once, her excitement overtaking her need to speak.

Y/N blinked. “I - what is off?”

“Colin and Marina Thompson’s engagement,” Eloise said again, elaborating a little more. Y/N blinked again. “What?”

Eloise grabbed Y/N’s hand and dragged her into the living room, thrusting the latest Lady Whistledown into her hands.

Y/N hadn't read it in the past week - every page being focused on Colin and Marina and how happy Daphne and the duke had seemed. Every description of anything related to love added insult to injury.

She scanned it quickly and stared at the words with wide eyes. The paper fell from her hands as she looked up at Eloise.

“She... she’s pregnant?” Y/N whispered, almost not daring to say it. “What, when, how - I mean, I know how but...”

“I didn’t know how,” Eloise admittedly sheepishly.

Y/N’s head shot up, Colin and Marina forgotten. “How did you not know? You grew up with three older brothers!”

Eloise shrugged. “It just... never came up. Anyway,” she fluttered the piece of paper in font of Y/N’s face, “Colin’s free.”

“Eloise -”

“What? Y/N, there is nothing standing between you and Colin.”

Y/N sighed and slowly sat down on the sofa. “Eloise, your family’s reputation is... in a treacherous position. If I’m seen flinging myself at Colin to try and benefit from this... I’m not that sort of person. Maybe in a few weeks when its all calmed down...”

Eloise looked her friend up and down. She sat down next to her and took her hand. “Okay. I don’t agree with it but, okay.”

Over the next few days, Y/N began spending more time around the Bridgerton’s, visiting their house like she had before Colin’s proposal.

All of the Bridgerton’s, bar Colin, knew why Y/N had vanished for a few days but said nothing of her sudden re-appearance. Y/N put it down to feeling ill - she tried not to fall apart when Colin asked after her with concern in his voice and worry in his eyes.

“I’m fine now,” Y/N told him, smiling. “Just a blip.”

“Good,” Colin replied, matching her smile.

Y/N sipped on her tea, casting her eyes down as she felt her stomach flutter at the sight of his smile - even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you attending the Queen’s garden party tomorrow?” Y/N asked, setting her cup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

Colin nodded. “Daphne and the duke are back in town... so, yes, we’re all going to be attending. Are you...”

“Yes, I’ll be there,” Y/N replied, trying not to smile at the palpable relief that appeared on Colin’s face at her answer.

Despite everything that had happened over the past few days, Colin and Y/N’s relationship hadn’t changed. Yes, Y/N was still longing after someone she would likely never have but she’d missed her best friend too much to sulk in her own misery for much longer.

The day of the Queen’s Garden Party, Y/N joined the Bridgerton’s, walking in with the family, her arm in Colin’s.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Violet asked, smiling as she put her arm around Hyacinth. “All of us together again. And Y/N.”

Y/N laughed. “Thanks, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Yes, it’s lovely indeed. We should tempt scandal more often,” Colin muttered. He grunted lightly as Y/N elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow.”

“Hush,” Y/N replied. She was highly aware of everyone staring at them - a given considering the scandal that Marina had brought down upon the Bridgerton’s.

After a few minutes, and after the Queen had accosted Daphne and the duke, Y/N wandered off from the Bridgerton’s, mingling with the other guests and indulging herself in a glass of lemonade and a biscuit.

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N closed her eyes at the shrill, grating voice of Cressida Cowper. She was the last person she’d wanted to see let along speak to. Y/N plastered a smile to her face and turned to face Cressida.

“Miss Cowper, how are you?” Y/N asked.

“I’m wonderful, thank you. I just wanted to know what you think you’re doing,” Cressida replied, her tone cheerful but the words sounded and felt forced.

Y/N frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Cressida.”

“Mr Bridgerton - Colin, I mean. You’ve been fawning all over him since the news about Miss Thompson broke -”

“I haven’t been fawning, I’ve been trying to be a good friend,” Y/N replied slowly, her frown deepening.

Cressida waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but we all know that your ‘friendship’ is a disguise for your unrequited love for Mr Bridgerton.”

The empty glass in Y/N’s hand all most fell to the floor, but she kept a tight grip on it as she looked at Cressida. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s well known that you are in love with Colin and that he doesn’t know. And if he did, well, that would be your friendship over, wouldn’t! Perhaps you are even Lady Whistledown and wrote that article on Miss Thompson to have Colin all to yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying here, Cressida -”

“Oh, I’m not implying anything, Y/N,” Cressida replied, smiling slyly. “We both know the truth about your relationship with Colin. I just can’t imagine how hurt he would be if Lady Whistledown turned out to be you. Besides, it’s not like you actually think he could possibly love you? You don’t deserve him.”

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” Colin asked, stepping into the conversation and putting a hand on the small of Y/N’s back.

Y/N turned her head away and, despite the tightness in her throat, swallowed and smiled. “Yes, Miss Cowper was just leaving,” she said firmly.

Cressida all but stamped her foot as she turned and flounced off. Colin watched her go and then turned back to Y/N, frowning in concern. He was no stranger to the stings Cressida and her mother often gave out to the Ton.

“What was that about?” Colin asked. “I didn’t really hear much -”

“Nothing,” Y/N cut in. Colin’s hand was still resting on her back and she could feel the heat of his hand seeping through the light pink silk of her dress. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t just be friends and pretend her feelings didn’t exist when they did.  She took a shaky breath in, clenching her lace gloved hands tightly as they shook. “Excuse me.”

Ignoring Colin’s worried and hurt expression, Y/N stepped away from him and walked off towards the back of the gardens in search for some peace and quiet.

Y/N found a small side garden amongst the hedges and darted into it, kicking the small white picket fence gate shut behind her - forming a very pathetic barrier that Colin could probably climb over.

Cressida had always had the ability to get under her skin. Normally she would simply forget and move on with her day but everything Cressida had said - minus the Lady Whistledown accusation - was true.

She didn’t deserve Colin. That was partly why she’d been so content to let him marry Marina - because she didn’t deserve him. And why would he love her? Compared to Marina and every other women Colin had flirted at or with, she wasn’t much of anything.

“Y/N?”

Y/N closed her eyes at the sound of Colin’s voice, mentally wishing him away. She refused to turn around and face him - she could feel the emotions beginning to win over her and could feel her eyes burning.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What did Cressida say?” Colin asked, walking up to her and putting a hand on her back where the fabric was nothing more than a sheer covering.

Y/N could feel the heat of his skin and the soft skin of his hand and suddenly wanted him to just go away and never speak to her again because it would make things so much easier.

“Nothing that wasn’t true,” Y/N said softly, a stray tear escaping her eye and dripping on to her cheek. She felt Colin still and knew he’d heard at least some of what Cressida had said. “You heard, didn’t you?” Y/N asked quietly.

Colin didn’t answer for a moment. “I... I heard the last few sentences.”

Y/N laughed humourlessly. “Of course, you did,” she said, her laugh mixing with sobs. She turned around to face her best friend with tears in her eyes.

Colin looked at her, stunned by the broken expression on her face. In the years he’d known her, the only time he’d seen her that broken had been when her mother had passed away and she’d sobbed into his arms all night. “Y/N/N...”

“No,” Y/N stepped to the side, away from Colin’s outstretched hand. “No, I’m sorry.” She inhaled sharply. “I can’t... I can’t do this. I know - I can’t.”

Colin lunged forward and grabbed Y/N’s wrist as she turned to go, yanking her to a halt and forcing her to look at him. “Y/N, wait.”

“What, Colin? So, you can make fun of the fact that I’ve been on love with my best friend since I was sixteen?”

“No, I just... I need an explanation - I need someone to explain because my head is spinning,” Colin replied. “I don’t understand.”

Y/N sniffed, looking down at the grass. “You own my heart, Colin,” she said simply. She looked up. “When I dream of my future it's with you. You are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with - the one I see myself loving until I die.”

Y/N paused, swallowing down the tears that wanted to fall. She had to say this now, to get it over with and make it clear. Even though it was physically hurting her. “And I know you don’t feel the same way so, we can just leave this here. Nothing else has to be said about it. I’ll leave and we don’t have to speak of this again - or even see each other if that’s what you want.”

Colin said nothing. He was too stunned and surprised by the sudden confession and the events of the past few days to form a sentence. Y/N nodded sadly, taking his silence as her answer, and left the gardens.

She tried to hide her tear-stained face and broken heart as she emerged back into the main party. She’d arrived with the Bridgerton’s and had no way of getting home without them. Y/N spotted Anthony near the entrance and quickly made her way over to him, desperate to leave before anyone cornered her or spoke to her.

“Anthony,” Y/N said softly, nudging his arm.

Anthony turned around as the people he had been talking to walked off. It took him all of thirty seconds to take in her teary eyes, her shaking hands and the broken look on her face. “Y/N...”

“I’d like to go home, please,” she said quietly, her voice breaking on the last few words.

Anthony, to his credit, didn’t ask why. He nodded and took her arm, steering her out the garden. He caught Benedict as they passed, the two sharing a quick and quiet conversation. She caught the pitying stare Benedict gave her, the simple action making her tears free fall once again.

The carriage they had arrived in wasn’t waiting out front for them. Anthony looked around for it but saw no sign.

“I’ll be back, are you alright to stay here?”

“I’ll be fine,” Y/N replied, nodding.

Anthony squeezed her shoulder and walked off with a determined stride to find their carriage.

“Y/N!”

Y/N closed her eyes and turned around. “Colin, don’t -”

Colin skidded to a halt in front of Y/N, scattering the pebbles of the driveway with his sudden stop. He was panting, as if he’d ran from the garden to the driveway without stopping.

“Just, listen,” he said, cutting her off. “I... I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say.”

“I know, you don’t like me, it’s fine -”

“Will you,” Colin walked forward until he was inches away from her, “just listen?” He took her gloved hand and held it in his. “I didn’t say anything because you caught me entirely off guard. The past few days have been chaos and I need a moment to think. Because the last thing I expected was you to declare your love to me in a garden on a random Thursday. The truth is, Y/N, is that I have loved you ever since we had our wedding in the gardens of my house.”

Y/N let out a snort of laughter despite her tears. “I thought you didn’t want me,” she said softly, looking up at him. “Why would you? I don’t deserve you -”

“That,” Colin said, putting a hand on Y/N’s cheek and wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumb, “sounds suspiciously like the words of a Cowper. Y/N, I love you. I thought you didn’t want me!”

Y/N laughed tearfully and leant into Colin’s hand, still resting on her cheek. “We’re idiots.”

“That we are,” Colin agreed, nodding. “Y/N... the way I feel when I’m with you... there is nothing on this earth that is comparable. I’ve been waiting my entire life for you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I thought Marina would be the one to make me forget you but every time I looked at her... I thought of you. I thought about how much I want to kiss you -”

“Then kiss me,” Y/N said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “And make it a good one, Colin.”

And suddenly his lips were on hers and there was a hunger and a need as he kissed her. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. Y/N’s hand went to the back of his head, her fingers combing through his curls. She could feel his heart pounding and could feel the warmth from his skin as his hand moved up her back.

It was years of waiting and pining and wanting the other. Y/N needed Colin like she needed to breathe, and Colin needed Y/N like he needed water to live.

Y/N reluctantly pulled away from Colin, her hand still in his hair. She rested her forehead against his. “I love you.”

Colin rested his forehead on hers. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again, staring at her. His hand was on her waist and the other one was on the back of her neck, stroking the skin gently. “I love you too.”

“So... are we organising another wedding?”

Y/N dropped her head on to Colin’s shoulder at the sound of Anthony’s voice and groaned loudly.  “Seriously, Anthony?!”

“You two kissed in the driveway,” Anthony pointed out, crossing his arms and attempting to look intimidating despite the stupid grin on his face. “Now, are we going or staying, because I’ve still yet to find our carriage.”

“We can stay,” Y/N replied, her hand entwined with Colin’s. “And when we walk back in there, we’re going to break the Ton.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 01

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: violence, dark themes, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

SUMMARY: she was at the wrong place at the wrong time and a misunderstanding dooms her to a life as an ascendance card under the watch of the executer.

A/N: i’m so excited to go back to my mob writing roots with this one. there’s a bit of a few twists and changes to the traditional mob writing i’ve done before and i am really excited to be sharing chapter one with you. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER 

The ambience was dark, badly lit by the yellow flickering lights in the halls with echoes of the buzzing of the hot old light bulbs. There was no sound but that buzz and the heavy sound of his boots hitting the rotting wood floor boards. The scent in the air was putrid, a mix of what seemed like life meeting its end stage, cheap cider and weed. It was definitely different and he didn’t trust it. 

At the end of the corridor there it was. 107. The 107th flat in purgatory with the door slightly opened. He pushed the door open, the smell getting more intense and his boots sticky with the liquor spilled on the floor. 

     - What did you do? - each word was punctuated with intense disbelief, as if this was all a nightmare. 

     - Bucky, help me!

PRESENT

The wind brushed and pulled her hair into different directions as she stepped off the train’s step. She rushed through the streets of New York, hair pin stuck in the middle of her teeth as she fought the winds to try and set her hair into an appropriate hair do while running down the street at the same time. The chattering people and the sun peaking through the clouds was hopeful as she grabbed her coffee from the same vendor off the side street as her eyes gazed upon the Metropolitan Opera House which had been gracing the New York landscape for longer than she had been on this earth and now she was part of it, she was a small speck in an almost 60 year long history. 

Her smiled widened as her sneakers hit the pavement, eyes gazing over the fountain and the flags of the production coming down from the opera house’s arches. The same production she was part off. Sure, she was a chorus girl but the mere thought of singing on that stage, of watching that public in those red velvet seats under the chandelier just made it all more exciting. She walked inside the theatre through the stage door, meeting the manager at the door. 

     - Hi. - she leaned her hands against the desk where the manager was surrounded by attendance and cast sheets as well as a big laptop shining a blue light onto her face. The woman didn’t even look up, instead putting up a board with the names of all people in the production in front of her. - Do you need to see my ID? 

     - Just sign in front of your name. 

Y/N giddily looked at the list of names, hers closer to the bottom but there, written in bold Arial font. She signed her name in front of her printed one with the barely working pen, before pinning it over the board and handing it over to the manager who pointed inside the opera theatre. She held onto her gym bag harshly, padding the sublime floors and looking around with such wonder one would believe she’d never been here. She’d been here before, she was here every month to watch a performance but now she was not guest, she was not just another person walking in with a ticket, she was part of it, she was part of the show. After years of doing community plays, workshops and failed auditions, she had gotten here and suddenly all those days spent in bed feeling miserable in bed after getting rejected yet again didn’t matter anymore she was here.

Her eyes glanced at every tiny little ornament in the opera house until she entered the theatre room. Her heart filled with joy and happy nostalgia as the red and golden tones of the room involved her. There wasn’t anyone in the theatre yet except for a few musicians from the instrumental pit and some cleaners so she was free to roam around. Her fingers traced the suede velvet of the red seats, finding a few missing binoculars on the grounds but not really caring. 

     - You! - she whipped her head towards the voice which came from a woman, probably in her mid 40s all dressed in black with a gold name tag slightly above her left breast. 

     - Hi. - Y/N smiled, extending her hand towards the woman. - I’m Y/N, I’m the new ...

    - I don’t care, we need silk ribbons, now. 

    - Oh, I ... I’m new, I don’t know where I’d get silk ribbons, m’am.

    - The costume room? Go, stop looking at me as if you were Bambi and go.

    - Oh, okay. 

She made her way hastily out of the theatre room wondering how she was going to find silk ribbons, where she was going to find them and why she had to find them. Maybe it was a hazing ritual for new people, after all, she had been into various hazings during her career, including downing a whole bottle of honey which she couldn’t even finish, only eating one fourth of it before becoming nauseous. 

She stopped in the middle of the hall, wondering where the costume room could be. It couldn’t be on the top floor, that was usually where the bars and common rooms were so if the building followed regular construction protocols for opera houses, it was probably on the underground section of the house where the dressing rooms used to be. Y/N ventured into the lift, pressing the lowest number on the number chart of the panel until she reached the underground floor. Y/N looked around, people running in and out yet no one stopped whenever she tried to question where the costume room was. She had managed to find the costume shop but no luck finding the costume room until she was pretty much pressed against a dark door with those exact words by the passing crowd. 

She twisted the knob of the costume room door, tumbling onto the dark room as a result. The room was filled to the brim with costumes on each side of the room, a plexiglass divider between the two sides which stopped every meter or so and also appeared to be divided onto female and male costumes with the ensemble costumes at the back. She padded across the concrete floors, looking through dresses and accessories for ribbons but no successful attempt. The ruffling from the other side of the room had her turning around, forehead furrowed as she walked towards the plexiglass divider. 

     - Hello? - she questioned, wondering if there was someone in this room who could help her find silk ribbons. Great, she had barely joined the company and was already screwing up. Great, Y/N. Way to go, Y/N. 

She saw someone all dressed in black just like the women before, yet there seemed to be something which didn’t match up; black jeans, black shirt and black leathe jacket as well as a pair of also black boots, scruffed and probably entirely too old to still be holding up together. Her eyes caught his which despite the low almost non existent light of the costume room, were light, a sort of greyish blue like the calm sea before of storm. His gaze pulled hers in, like gravity and she couldn’t help but clutch the jacket next to her as a bad feeling along with something she’d never felt before settled in her stomach. 

His hair was mostly pushed back yet the ones which framed his face fell like dominos. She moved along the side where she was to one of the plexiglass gaps and he did the same still maintaining eye contact with her, until the two reached the gap. She didn’t notice she was holding her breathe in until she breathed out.

    - Hi. - her own hand gripped her wrist, shoe grinding against the floors. - Uhm, I’m new here and this lady sent me down to find some silk ribbons but I can’t find any. Do you ...

    - I... uh ... I don’t know where they are. - he faltered for a few seconds before regaining his posture.

    - Oh, I thought since you were here, you might be one of the stage managers. 

    - I’m not. - his tone was monotonous, almost as if he had the answer to her question before she even made it. 

    - Oh ... - she rubbed her neck. - Are you also looking for silk ribbons?

    - I’m looking for the dressing rooms, actually.

    - They’re down the hall. -  she pointed at the door as if it was the “down the hall”. - Hum ... Are you new here too?

    - Yeah. Thanks. - he walked towards the door, opening it and stepping out before catching her gaze once again. 

Y/N remained in the middle of the room as if she were in a transe and maybe she was. It felt like she was falling yet she was firm on her feet and she did not like that feeling. She did not like that feeling of falling, it wasn’t feeling, it was hopeless falling and she wondered why looking at a man who looked like an 80′s glam rock reject made her feel like that, so lost. Maybe it was the respect he appeared to command by merely looking at her or maybe it was the nerves about being new and not being able to find some goddamn silk ribbons. Damn it. 

    - Call for 30 minutes before dress rehearsal. - the voice came from the intercom and immediately her mind dropped the idea of finding silk ribbons and moved to finding the ensemble dressing room and get dressed and ready. Damn it, this was going well. 

She rushed down the hall, bag almost slipping off her shoulder until she saw the door with the ensemble plaque on it. The young woman peaked inside the room where pretty much everyone with a role on the ensemble were already sat down. She shyly walked in the middle row until she found her own little corner, her name written on a sticker on the mirror along with photos of how the makeup should be done as well as how to get the costume in correctly. The same goofy smile returned as she sat down and saw her name above her. It was fine, she was here, she was part of a company.

    - Hey you’re new. - the girl next to her twirled her chair to face her. She already had her makeup on and hair pinned curled up and ready to put a wig cap on. - I’m Elliot but people call me Elle.

    - Y/N, I’m the new chorus girl. First day. 

    - Aw, welcome. - she had a bright smile, inviting and almost as exciting as the whole experience of being there. - Do you want help pincurling your hair? I can get it done while you do your makeup. 

    - Yes, please. - she pulled out a big box from her bag which had all her makeup and pins. 

Elle started pin curling her hair up while she put an inappropriate amount of blush on which was just appropriate to get on stage under the bright yellow lights. Turns out half the practice for opera is learning to do your makeup under bright yellow lights and then learning to sing. 10 minutes to rehearsal start, she was along with Elle going down and up to the main stage where most dancers were warming up. Elle left her to do so, leaving Y/N once again to just stand there, looking around like a little sheep in the middle of wolves. 

    - I’ve never seen you around. - her shoulders almost went up as he turned to see one of the principal sopranos, if not the principal soprano. She had seen all of her shows ever since she was a teenager and she had even wrote an essay for university on her for a module. Catherine Vargas, the best New York could offer, if not the best the world could offer. - I didn’t know they were still casting dancers.

    - Oh, I’m a chorus girl, Mrs Vargas. 

    - A chorus girl? - she furrowed her brows at her, looking her up and down. - What type?

    - The type who ... is in the back with the ensemble. - her voice lowered at least a few volumes down, back curved as if she were bowing. 

    - I know what chorus girls do. I asked what vocal type. 

    - Lyric soprano, m’am.

    - A lyric soprano in the chorus. Interesting. Where did you train?

    - Julliard, m’am.

    - Julliard? - she looked her up and down again. - That is a great school. What is a Julliard graduate doing in the chorus line?

    - Everyone starts somewhere. - she laughed nervously, scratching her arm as she did so.

    - Not a lyric soprano from Julliard. Composers sure do love an ingenue, don’t they? Don’t worry, a few months with me and you’ll be supporting. 

    - That’s ... that’s really kind, Mrs. Vargas. Thank you.

    - Don’t thank me. Could you get me some honey from my dressing room? I’m feeling a bit strained. 

    - It’s 5 minutes until rehearsal starts.

    - It’s okay, chorus normally doesn’t do much during rehearsal. Can you get it?

    - Yeah, I think so.

She straightened her crinkled skirt, looking behind her back before going down the stairs which led down to the dressing rooms. This was good, right? Getting into one of the main star’s good graces besides she was right, the chorus didn’t really get much attention during rehearsals, at least not as much as the main characters. It’s easier to get away with screwing up in the back than in the front, her teacher would tell her which would always earn a few laughs from her colleagues. Yet, Y/N hated to make any mistakes. She would stay up all night in front of a cheap piano she had bought from a charity shop, playing and singing the same 5 note progression until her flatmate yelled at her to shut up. For her, if it wasn’t perfect and if she didn’t get any criticism while performing it, she hadn’t done it right. It didn’t matter at the end of the day but what did matter was to climb up the ladder. She didn’t want to be a star, all she wanted was to be able to be on that stage forever with the spotlight shining on her and she knew there was only one way to climb up. Actually there were two, extreme luck and connections. Now, she didn’t have the best of luck so her major choice was to make connections and reach that status. 

She made her way into the principal dressing room. It was probably one of the biggest she had ever seen, with expensive decor and various flowers covering it. She wondered how many flowers she received on opening nights if that was the number she had on regular days. Y/N made her way to the desk, opening drawers and more drawers to find honey until she found it on the lowest drawn. She went down on her knees to grab it, mindless and careless to everything that was happening until she felt a sharp pain on the side of her her.

Then everything went dark. 

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying @buckyswillows @blossomslibrary @juliesland @iloveshawnieboi @unmagically​ 

[out-of-jams]

War & Peace || jhs

↠ War & Peace ↞ “Your rivalry with Jung Hoseok first began at the tender age of five, right after you’d beamed a cardboard box of crayons straight at his forehead. He’d bled and it’d later left behind a thin scar that sliced clean through his right eyebrow. You should’ve felt guilty, but you hadn’t. Still didn’t.

He’d had it coming for trying to Compel you to hand them over anyway. And technically, you did hand them over. Just not in the way he’d probably wanted. At least, that was what you’d told the teacher after Hoseok had growled wildly at you from across the playroom table.

But you know what they say; all’s fair in love and war.”

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings/Genre: Alpha!Hoseok. Omega!Reader. Enemies to lovers. ABO dynamics. Explicit language. Fluff.Slight angst. Cliché spin-the-bottle scene. Pining. They’re both annoying idiots. Competition au(?). Bad puns. Cliche Jackson throwing a party (a party ain’t a party if it ain’t a Jackson Wang party).

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not.

The room was abuzz.

You paused where you stood at the entrance to the Four Seasons’ Hotel ballroom. Fingers tightening around the small, black clutch bag in your hand, you let your eyes rove over expensive dresses and suits and quaffed hair and curls. At least the spaghetti strap, two piece off-white dress your mother had bought (and forced you to wear) fit the occasion quite well, so your inherent fear of accidentally standing out wouldn’t come to fruition.

Whoever had decorated the ballroom had pulled out all the stops. There were miniature chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, lights turned to a dim setting. Small-yet-cosy circular tables were spread out evenly, chairs for two either occupied or emptied. A man in a catering ensemble approached you, extending his tray of bubbly champagne. Normally you wouldn’t put alcohol of any kind into your body, but you’d make an exception just that once. You took one with a smile of thanks and swallowed a mouthful in an attempt to chase away your nerves.

When your parents had first approached you about attending the matchmaking event, you’d been wary. The events themselves weren’t rare; young adults who had yet to find a mate would go to them. They had a ninety-nine percent success rate when it came to matching you. However, you found the whole thing to be quite archaic.

It wasn’t that you were against love or finding a mate or anything like that, you just didn’t think that attaching yourself to another person for life should be so significant. You’d been too busy during college getting your degree to date anyone seriously. And you’d never felt the desire to, hadn’t needed to.

As an Omega, you were the lowest tier in the societal hierarchy. And as an unmated Omega, you were a rare commodity. It was expected for an Omega to be mated before they even reached their twenties. Something about needing to be taken care of or some other bullshit that you disagreed with. You could take perfectly good care of yourself.

But when you’d come home mateless after graduation to visit your parents before trying to find a job with your degree, they’d been concerned. Your mother, a fellow Omega, had sat you down and forced you to fill out the overly long, three hundred questionnaire for the matchmaking service. Of course, you’d rolled your eyes, but ended up relenting. You’d decided that you’d just go to the damn event, let the mysterious matchmakers do their thing, give some excuse to leave sometime in the middle of the thing, and then go home and tell your parents that you’d tried.

You should’ve known that it wouldn’t be that easy.

Glancing down at the dark red card the size of your palm that the woman manning the check-in desk had given you, you memorized the two numbers printed on it. As if you hadn’t looked at it a few dozen times already. Just in case. You didn’t want to be there, but you weren’t about to somehow accidentally embarrass yourself either.

The flared, lace skirt of your dress brushed against your legs while you made your way through the room, eyes scanning the number placards on the table in search of your own. Some of them already had couples sitting at them, engaged in conversation and hiding shy smiles behind dainty hands. Your heels click-clacked against the shiny marble flooring as you weaved between others who were still finding their seats.

Eight, nine, ten, you mentally counted in your head, passing by the white-clothed tables. Eleven.

Your feet halted and you glanced down at your card one last time before looking up. Table twelve was already occupied, leaving a single seat left.

“Wow,” you murmured through red painted lips. He looked up at the sound of your voice, soulfully deep brown irises alighting on your form. Dark hair parted perfectly to reveal the smooth, tan skin of his forehead curled above a single one of those eyes. Heart-shaped lips that appeared soft to the touch parted in surprise. “I know you almost failed fifth grade math, but I didn’t think you were still this bad at counting.”

"I—what are you doing here?” Jung Hoseok looked so utterly bewildered that it would’ve been endearing if it had been anyone but him. He subconsciously smoothed a ringed hand down the front of his midnight black satin tux and stared at you like he’d never seen you before.

“What are you doing here?” You avoided answering his question with a raised eyebrow.

“What does it look like I’m doing here?”

“It looks like you’re sitting at my table,” you gestured at the aforementioned seat with your flute of champagne.

“No, I’m sitting at my table.” Hoseok tilted his head, sharp jawline standing out and tiny dimples revealing themselves as he pursed his mouth. “It’s not my fault that you can’t read.”

“Excuse me?” A sound of indignation sprang from the back of your throat and you dropped your clutch on the table in order to flip around the tiny card in your hand. The number twelve was embedded on it in swirling, looping gold font. “Now move.”

He did not, in fact, move. He just sat there like an impressive impersonation of a statue. The only part of him that moved was when those espresso hued eyes of his widened in either surprise or shock, you didn’t know. Nor did you care. Or at least you hadn’t until he slowly lifted a hand to show you his own card with the number twelve printed on it.

And then you too, did the best performance you could muster at being frozen solid. As if the universe was attempting to prove that the two of you had, in fact, been matched together, your voices harmonized as you spoke at the same exact time:

“Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me.”

                  (Seventeen years ago)

Your rivalry with Jung Hoseok first began at the tender age of five, right after you’d beamed a cardboard box of crayons straight at his forehead. He’d bled, and it’d later left behind a thin scar that sliced clean through his right eyebrow. You should’ve felt guilty, but you hadn’t. Still didn’t.

He’d had it coming for trying to Compel you to hand them over anyway. And technically, you did hand them over. Just not in the way he’d probably wanted. At least, that’s what you’d told the teacher after Hoseok growled wildly at you from across the playroom table.

The kindergarten classroom had been packed with screaming, rambunctious toddlers. It was an important time in every child’s life — not because that was the age where friendships first began; it was when nature started to reveal itself. When the part of the brain in charge of scent glands that separated the Alphas from the Betas from the Omegas developed.

You’d been relegated to one of the tables in the corner with all the rest of the soft, floral smelling, shy Omegas. Until the green colored crayon you’d been using to smear across your paper in an attempt at drawing the vast forest outside ran out. The closest resupply of your writing instrument had been lying all the way across the room on one of the empty tables.

Of course, because fate was nothing but a bitch, your quick hands snatched the crayon box up point-two seconds before a pouting Jung Hoseok could. He’d looked at you with those gentle, chocolate brown eyes of his, and then the first words he’d ever spoken to you passed his heart shaped lips.

“Hey, give it!”

And yours to him. “No way! I got them first, loser!”

The rounded apples of his cheeks puffed up with a scowl, jaw clenched. If he’d been taller than you, maybe he would’ve been intimidating. But to you, he’d just looked like a fluffed up chicken.

“Well, you’re an Omega and I’m an Alpha, so you gotta do what I say,” his tongue fumbled over the larger words and he crossed his arms over his chest with a look that told you he thought he’d just won the battle.

“Make me,” scoffing, you leveled him with a glare and waved the box of crayons under his perfectly straight nose.

“Fine.” His eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath. “Give them.” His dark irises flashed gold as he laced his words with the power of an Alpha Command.

If he were older and had more of a grip over his powers, perhaps you would’ve felt compelled. But the only thing that overcame you was annoyance. Your fingers tightened around the box; your arm cocked back. “Fine.”

And it went careening straight into his forehead with a crack! that had all heads in the room turning to look back. Sticking your nose in the air, you slipped your stolen green crayon into your dress pocket and skipped back to your table.

That was when your rivalry first started.

And the war began.

Eleven years later and the whole town knew of your blatant dislike for one another. It was difficult not to when the moment the two of you entered the same room, you were immediately at each other’s throats. Some of the older, more set-in-their-ways Alphas frowned upon your rivalry with Jung Hoseok. Though they were more annoyed at the fact that he never used his Alpha Compulsion to “put his mouthy Omega in her place” than anything else.

His. Hearing them call you his never failed to absolutely infuriate you. Like you were nothing other than a piece of property. Like you belonged to the one person in the world who you despised the most. Like you could belong to anyone at all.

Omegas were supposed to cow to Betas, and above all, Alphas. The hierarchy had been around since the beginning of time. Since Alphrina, the goddess of all mankind, had created the first Alpha in her image. They were the strongest of the Three, Betas coming in second and Omegas last.

If Hoseok had been like any other Alpha, then he probably would’ve long since made you submit to him. But he never had. Lisa, your childhood best friend and the town’s most popular female Alpha, had theorized that maybe he just didn’t know how to use his Alpha powers. But you knew better. His pride would never recover if he’d been forced to Compel you into listening to him.

Not even after you’d paid Jeon Jungkook a hefty sum to switch Hoseok’s shampoo bottle during the football team’s after practice shower with a similar one you’d filled with green hair dye back in high school. He’d stormed up to your locker the next day, cheeks aflame with rage and jaw clenched while he spat out (true) accusations.

But he’d had no proof that you’d been the one to make him look like a very festive Christmas tree, what with the already bright red strands of his hair stained with streaks of green. You’d thoroughly made sure that Jungkook would do it while the team was actually showering, so the soap and hot water would wash away any lingering scent of the culprit.

Hoseok had gotten you back, of course, by sticking a huge glob of chewing gum in your hair after you’d fallen asleep on your desk during history class. You’d cried for two days straight after your mom had to chop off your long locks into a shoulder length bob. And the cycle repeated itself with you taking revenge by stealing the janitor’s keys after school, and hiding a dead fish in Hoseok’s locker to decompose over the two week long Christmas break.

At least your rivalry had stopped anyone else from trying to mess with you due to your Omega status. Either they’d been too afraid of stepping on Hoseok’s toes, or had just been way too entertained by your antics, you weren’t sure. But you weren’t complaining, not when you saw how the other Omega’s in your school had been treated.

It hadn’t been good.

At all.

Suffice to say, maybe you would be somewhat grateful for Hoseok if you didn’t despise his existence so much.

You blamed your last weekend of your high school career for implanting the seed into your mind. For flip-turning your opinion of Jung Hoseok right upside down. Not that you’d exactly noticed it at first; it’d just kickstarted the slow sliver of doubt that began to fester.

Partying wasn’t usually your thing. You didn’t have anything against it, nor the people that chose to do so, you just refused to partake in anything that could alter your state of mind. Because being an Omega not in full control of yourself was a dangerous thing to be. But it was the end of mandated schooling and a very important milestone that deserved celebrating.

Which was the exact argument that Lisa had used in order to convince you to go with her and Jennie (a Beta and the most recent addition to your friend group) to the after graduation party. Jackson Wang’s house was unnecessarily massive, most likely due to both of his Alpha parents being on the city council. He’d somehow been able to convince them to take a weekend vacation and leave the estate in his (ir)responsible hands.

By the time you pulled up with both of your friends, the party was in full swing. Cars littered the curved driveway all the way down to the street below. (And seeing as how the Wang Estate was fifty acres, that was a long way down.) Music poured out from the opened front doors, heavy bass rattling the windows of Lisa’s Nissan.

You pressed your nose against the passenger side glass with a grimace. Fiddling with the overly tight dress that Jennie had forced you into, you sighed deeply.

“Oh, come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun,” Jennie leaned forward from the backseat to cheer encouragingly.

“I didn’t even say anything,” you argued and finally turned away from the steadily approaching mansion.

“You didn’t have to. You have that I-Don’t-Want-To-Be-Here face,” Lisa spoke up from the driver’s seat, eyes intently focused on finding a parking spot.

You snorted. “That’s because I don’t. Being surrounded by loud, drunk Alphas and Betas isn’t the most appealing way to spend my Friday night, thank you very much.”  

“We already told you that we’re going to watch out for you tonight.” Lisa made a noise in the back of her throat when she finally found somewhere to leave her vehicle.

“Exactly. Remember what happened last time some asshole Beta harassed you?”

“You mean the time Lisa almost got arrested when she fought that guy in the McDonald’s line?”

“Yup, that’s the one.”

“I’m still mad I never got my McDouble,” Lisa sighed forlornly and cut the engine to her car.

“All you think about is food,” Jennie laughed, quickly scrambling out of the car before Lisa could turn around and swat at her leg.

“Well, she’s not wrong.” The only thing that saved you from your best friend’s wrath was the fact that you were faster than she was.

Inside the house was just as you’d expected: crowded, loud, so many smells and sounds that had your heightened senses almost crying from overstimulation. You followed Jennie and Lisa to the kitchen for them to make themselves drinks (and to snatch up a can of soda for yourself).

Somehow, somehow, your night ended up with Lisa shoving her tongue down some poor Beta’s throat, and you stuck sitting in a circle in the basement of Jackson Wang’s overly large house. Playing a game of spin-the-bottle with a group of people that you barely knew. Well, most of them anyway.

And you hadn’t intended to play at all, hadn’t had any interest in it, but one look at your mortal enemy’s shit-eating grin sitting across from you had made you stop yourself right before you bowed out. Because you knew for a damn fact that if you’d tried, he would’ve ended up saying something to try and embarrass you.

So instead, you reached out and watched intently as the beer bottle spun around and around and around and around. The green hue of the glass gleamed beneath the dim, blue lights in the basement tauntingly. Everything slowed down, your heartbeat thundered in your eardrums, the music faded into the background. You thought it’d never stop.

Until it did.

A hush fell around the group as you sluggishly trailed your eyes upwards and locked them onto your apparent make-out partner. Fate was a bitch and your life was nothing but a cosmic joke. Because of course, of course, clichés wouldn’t be clichés if they weren’t clichés.

And god you hated clichés.

“Ew no,” slipped out of your mouth unhindered before you could even think to form the syllables.

Directly across the circle, Hoseok raised a perfectly shaped dark eyebrow. (You hated he looked so good even when his hair was such an obnoxious and unflattering shade of red.) That annoying, self-assured smirk tugged at the corner of his coral hued, heart-shaped mouth. “Afraid?”

Everyone around the circle had fallen silent, choosing to sit back and watch the drama unfold instead of talking over it. Like you were some kind of live entertainment, their heads bouncing back and forth between the two of you. So when you scoffed, it was loud enough that every ear could hear it.

“I’m not afraid, I just don’t want you touching me because you’ve slept with so many people. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“Careful, you sound a little jealous there, L/n.” A second eyebrow jumped up to join the first and Hoseok leaned his weight forward. That insufferable smirk grew.

“Jealous?” Now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “As if I’d ever be jealous of anything involving you, Jung.”

“It’s okay to admit it,” he shrugged casually. “If you ask me, I think it’s kind of flattering. Sad and a little pathetic, but flattering.”

“What would I possibly be jealous of? Didn’t you have an STD last month?” You shot back with an unamused snort.

He did that thing again where the apples of his cheeks puffed up and his mouth pursed. While that expression had made him appear very non-intimidating in the past, with puberty had come the sharpening of his jawline and the development of high cheekbones. Maybe if it were any other Alpha looking at you like that, your inner Omega would’ve been cowering. But witnessing someone pee their pants and then cry about it in the first grade tended to make it impossible to see them as menacing.

“That was just a rumor!” Hoseok glared, face beginning to pink beneath the stares of everyone in the room.

“That’s not what Sulgi said,” you hummed. “Yikes.”

“You—”

“As entertaining as this foreplay is to watch,” Jackson’s deep voice piped up, leaning back on his hands from where he sat between two girls you didn’t recognize. “I’d like to take my turn sometime tonight. So either kiss or go fight out in the parking lot, I don’t care.”

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, more than likely contemplating arguing with the party host (you knew he didn’t like being ordered around, especially by another Alpha), before a spark of mischievous amusement lit up his mocha colored irises and he turned back to you, head tilted. “I would love to move on, but L/n over here is too afraid to.”

Your lip curled. “I already told you that I—”

“Nervous then? I bet that you haven’t even been kissed before, have you?”

Even though he was correct, you refused to allow him to know it. So you’d never kissed someone before, who cared? People graduated high school all the time without locking lips with someone else. And it wasn’t like you’d never had the chance to—you’d had plenty of dating offers—you’d just never found any of them worthy enough to kiss. That was it.

Not that Jung Hoseok needed to know that.

So you lied.

“Of course I have.”

“Oh really.” It wasn’t a question. “Who?”

“That’s none of your business,” you sniffed.

Hoseok looked like a wolf right before it pounced on its prey: smug. “Then what’s the problem then? Afraid you’d like it?”

“Wow, I don’t know how you fit through the door with your ego as inflated as it is. Like I’d ever enjoy kissing you. It took Sulgi months to shut up about how bad you are at it.”

His haughty expression dropped from his face and his stare darkened at the blatant insult. You realized your mistake the very moment that the challenge sparked within his eyes. He stood slowly, gaze locked on your own as he stepped over the bottle in the middle of the floor. When he reached you, his hand shot down and grasped onto your upper arm, lifting you from your cross-legged seat and onto the soles of your shoes.

“Wha—” He cut off your indignant protest with his mouth before it could fully form.

The last thing you ever would have expected was for Jung Hoseok to kiss you, let alone softly. For his mouth to press against yours with just enough pressure to be labeled as delicate—like the tickling of butterfly wings. He trapped your bottom lip between both of his, slender fingers threading through the hair at the nape of your neck. You shouldn’t have let him touch the most sensitive part of your body. Shouldn’t have instinctively liked it.

Shouldn’t have let your eyes flutter closed and kissed him back. But you were too wrapped up in his strong scent, the warmth of his skin, the gentle exhaling of air as he breathed, the lingering taste of the alcohol from his emptied cup. One kiss turned into two, into three, into four. Until your hands came up to grasp the material of his shirt between your fingers.

Jung Hoseok kissed you like you’d always wanted to be kissed. Slowly and softly and warmly. When his tongue slipped between your lips and touched yours, it wasn’t with the roughness of someone trying to take control. It was a dance; one where he took the lead subtly and you willingly let him do it.

His hand on your arm found your waist and pulled you close, pressed your fronts together until there was no longer any space separating you. A sigh escaped when his tongue brushed against yours more firmly, more determined to have you melting and pliant beneath his touch. Until you had to swallow a whimper when he finally pulled away.

He didn’t go far, just enough to look at you down the slope of his straight nose, pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy and mouth kiss-swollen. You hated him then, in that moment, more than you ever had before. Hated him for stealing your first kiss. Hated him for making you want to lean forward and pull him back until you could no longer breathe. Hated him for dropping his hands from your heated skin with a wink and that knowing smirk of his.

Hated him.

The rest of the game had been a blur after that. You’d sat back down between Jennie (ignoring her imploring expression) and a Beta whom you couldn’t even process the face of. You didn’t spin again, had been content to just sit next to your friend and sip at your almost empty can of soda.

And you hated, hated, hated yourself for noticing that Hoseok never took another turn either.

                           (Present Time)

You’d been content with the fact that you’d never have to see your rival again after that night. With high school finally over, you would be going off to college on the other side of the country and would finally be free. To say that you’d been ecstatic would’ve been an understatement. There would be no more biting comments aimed at you in the hallway, no more having to be paranoid about being the victim of another of Hoseok and his friend’s pranks.

No more Hoseok.

It had been a glorious, stress-free (to an extent) four years of your life. Both Lisa and Jennie had applied to and been accepted to the same university as you, so you’d split the rent three ways and moved in together. City life had been a difficult adjustment, a culture shock, but now you were used to it and absolutely loved it.

Which meant that fate had to come around and fuck things up.

Silence had fallen between both you and Hoseok. All around you, couples sitting at the other tables in the expansive ballroom were jabbering away, getting to know one another to see how compatible they were. Laughter and glasses clinking harmonized together with the gentle music playing from the hotel speakers hidden somewhere you couldn’t see.

You’d collapsed bonelessly into your seat after the shock of being matchmade with your mortal enemy wore off. Now you were just annoyed. At your parents for making you go to the stupid thing, at yourself for not lying on your questionnaire, at the universe for existing. At Hoseok for existing. There was a lot to process.

Obviously, the matchmaking service was flawed, false, fake, inaccurate. And you were glad that you hadn’t been excited for the event in the first place, because you would’ve been dead by now. Reason of death? Disappointment. How in the world someone could think you and Hoseok were compatible at all was a complete mystery to you.

Glancing up from where you’d been glaring at your still half full flute of champagne, you eyed your unwelcome companion. Hoseok was looking out into the crowded room, stare blank as his mind went somewhere you had no interest in trying to follow even if you could. Four years had passed since you’d last laid eyes on him and in that time he’d changed physically, but also still looked the same.

No longer was he the teenager who’d yet to grow into his cheekbones, though he still had those broad shoulders and large hands and muscular-yet-slim athletic build. He’d always been handsome—not that you’d ever tell him that, even if your life was at stake—and his looks had only matured. Hoseok was all angles and sharp lines and deep set eyes framed by long lashes that always made you secretly jealous.

Which only fueled your puzzlement.

“Why are you here?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts were running through his mind and turned back to you. “What?”

“Why are you here,” you asked slowly, tongue spelling out each of the syllables like he couldn’t understand you otherwise.

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we already had this conversation.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. “I meant here as in this stupid event looking for a mate, not this stupid table.”

“Why are you? Already scared off everyone on the other side of the country with your annoying personality?” Four years later and he still had that infuriating smirk, that quirk of his lips that had your blood pressure instantly spiking.

“Are you here because you’ve slept with the whole town already?”

Humming, Hoseok tilted his head to the side in fake contemplation. “Your jealousy is showing again, L/n.”

“Your inflated ego is showing again, Jung.”

“Oh? If I’m recalling correctly, that’s exactly what you said years ago, right before you slobbered all over my chin.”

“Me? Me? Says the one who—”

“Could I have everyone’s attention please?” A woman’s voice cut through your heated response. Somewhere between the time the conversation had first begun and now, both you and Hoseok had gone from putting as much distance between the two of you as possible, to practically falling on top of the table to spew insults at one another.

With one last glare, you turned to look over your shoulder at the well-dressed blonde woman standing on the stage near the front. The material of her designer jumpsuit shimmered beneath the lights as her manicured hand held a microphone to her glossy, smiling lips. “Hello everyone! I’d like to welcome you to this year’s MateMaking—”

Hoseok’s quiet scoff echoed your own at the sound of the horribly unwitty play on words. His annoyed scowl also mirrored yours when you turned back to throw him one.

“—event! I can see that everyone has already found their mate-tastic partners for the evening.” She winked, earning a few light, nervous giggles from the crowd. “There are a few house rules that we must go over before we can officially begin. For starters, there will be no exchanging of partners. Secondly, a limit of two alcoholic beverages per person has and will be implemented. And last but not least, please make sure to enjoy yourselves! Now, onto the mate—” another wink “—event.”

“The grand prize for the lucky couple who wins tonight’s competition has been graciously donated by the Four Seasons Hotel.” She held up her fingers as she listed them, but you were too busy hanging onto her previous statement. “A free, one night stay in the penthouse suite tonight, an unlimited tab at the bar down the hall, and,” she paused in an attempt to build up the anticipation. “Eight hundred dollars cash.”

“Competition,” you questioned under your breath. What the hell did she mean by that? Wasn’t the whole event supposed to just be a glorified blind date? You threw a glance over your shoulder at Hoseok, who was too busy mouthing the words “eight hundred dollars” to pay you any attention.

“Now if you could all please leave your seats and gather onto the dance floor with your partner, we can begin.” The sound of chairs pushing back from tables echoed around the room and you watched as the people closest to the large opening in the middle of the floor started congregating.

Confused, you blindly rose to your feet and looked to see Hoseok doing the same. “What the hell is going on? I thought this was supposed to be about matchmaking?”

He blinked once, twice, before a laugh bubbled up his throat. “Did you not read the details of the event?”

“What details?” Your cheeks were slowly turning pink in embarrassment, you could feel it, and also couldn’t help it.

“You’re really telling me that you missed the giant, bold letters on the website?”

“What bold letters?” Weaving through the emptying tables, you tried your best to keep up with him on your shorter legs.

Hoseok tutted. “And you always tried to say that I was the stupid one.” He looked down at you once he finally found a spot on the floor that he liked, humor dancing across his face. You were just far away enough from the two coupled next to you that you couldn’t hear their conversations without trying to eavesdrop.

Annoyed, you smacked a hand against his arm and hissed, “Just tell me, asshole!”

“Owch.” He rubbed where you’d hit him, faking a grimace like you’d ever be able to actually hurt him. “Is that how you talk to someone you’re trying to get to help you?”

Your mouth opened to let out another string of character attacking profanities, but he halted them by holding up a hand. “This is a matchmaking event, but it’s also a competition. One that I’m not going to lose, not with that prize money on the line.”

“Oh,” you responded. Well, that explained some of it, but. “We.”

“What?”

“One that we’re not gonna lose,” you corrected him, mind already reeling with what you could use all of that cash for. “We win and split the money.”

“What makes you think that I’d want to split it with you?” A raise of his eyebrow.

A roll of your eyes. “Like you have any other choice. Do you see any other person you can impose your irritating presence on?”

A pause in the air. Pursed lips. Then: “Fine.”

“Fine.”

An agreement.

A temporary ceasefire just in time for one of the workers of the event to reach your side and gift the two of you with a bright green, inflated balloon. He walked off with the parting instructions not to pop it before making his way down the line and giving one to each couple he passed.

“The first stage of tonight’s competition,” the woman MCing (you were pretty sure she’d introduced herself, you’d just hadn’t been paying attention) addressed the crowd. “Is a slow dance to test you and your partner’s ability to be gentle with one another, both with the body and the heart. You must take the balloons that you have and put it in between your bodies.

“Whenever you hear the music change, you and your partner must step closer to each other. The last seven out of our ten couples that succeed in not popping the balloon or letting it fall to the ground will move on to the next round. Those of you who do not pass, will be shown to the bar across the hall to better get acquainted. Let us begin! Don’t be shy, everyone get into position.”

A few chuckles filtered throughout the room, balloons squeaking and strangers lightly conversing as they tried to follow the instructions. You looked up at Hoseok who looked back down at you with the medium sized balloon clutched in his hand.

He tilted his head to the side and wiggled the piece of rubber and hot air. “Are you going to come closer or not? Don’t pretend like you don’t want to touch me.”

“Trust me when I say that I don’t have to pretend,” you huffed, but stepped closer. One of his hands shot out to wrap around your waist, long slender fingers spreading across the whole expanse of the small of your back. You did your best to ignore the heat that bled from his body like a leech, and placed your left hand on his right shoulder.

With the balloon now firmly in place between the two of you, Hoseok took up your free hand with his just in time for the music to start pouring over the speakers. It wasn’t anything that you recognized—some indie song where the singer crooned lyrics about love or beauty or whatever. You didn’t care enough to pay attention.

“You better not step on my feet,” you spoke as the two of you swayed side to side, just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough for the slow dancing couples around you.

“Me? Step on your feet?” Hoseok gave you a look of disbelief. “Aren’t you the one who broke Felix Lee’s foot at prom?”

“No.” At the raising of his brows, you rolled your eyes and looked at some point over his shoulder so you wouldn’t have to meet his skeptical stare. “Okay, so maybe.” — he snorted — “But that had nothing to do with dancing!”

“You’ve always been a horrible liar, L/n.”

“And you’ve always been horrible at telling the truth, Jung.” The song changed into something a little more upbeat, one you thought you might have heard a time or two. Unfortunately, you had to step an inch closer to the man steadily guiding you around the dance floor.

A pop! resounded from the other side of the room as the first couple was eliminated. Squeaking from the balloon cushioned between both of your chests had your conversation pausing for a moment before it picked back up.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know what it means.”

“Believe it or not, L/n,” Hoseok began, “But I would never claim to know what goes on in that cluttered mind of yours.”

“I—wait,” you narrowed your eyes. “How do you know who I went to prom with?”

His mouth opened and closed, obviously ready to swing at you with another comeback before your question caught him off guard. “What?”

“How did you know that I went to prom with Felix?” Another change of the song had you automatically taking another step forward. “I thought you didn’t go to prom.”

“How did you know that I didn’t go to prom?” Hoseok fired back, avoiding the question.

“Oh, please,” you took a breath through your mouth and immediately regretted it when his strong, husky scent invaded your senses and lingered on your tongue. “If you were there, you would’ve been up my ass all night.”

“Now who’s the one with the inflated ego? Everyone was talking about how you’d stomped on him with your ogre feet the next day of school.” He didn’t make eye contact when you looked back at him, his gaze trailing over your head.

You raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s the horrible liar?”

“I’m not lying.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Liar.”

“Truther.”

“Truth— what — what even is that?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.”

“Which is?”

Hoseok’s lips pulled back into a grin, tiny dimples popping into place and white teeth kissing the air. “A truther.”

“You’re so annoying,” the words were supposed to sound annoyed, but you couldn’t help the amused upwards twitch of your mouth.

“I don’t think you have any room to talk, sweetheart.”

You blinked at the pet name. That was new. “Sweetheart?”

Hoseok didn’t respond right away. He just stared down at you past his perfectly shaped nose, dark eyelashes framing brushing the apples of his cheeks. And for the first time in as long as you could remember, you realized that you couldn’t read the thoughts lingering behind his softly bright eyes. Silence lingered for one moment, two, and then his heart shaped lips parted and—

Pop!

You started, jerking back in surprise and Hoseok’s grip on you was the only thing that prevented your balloon from falling to the floor. Pop! Next to you, a couple let out noises of disappointment as they watched the remnants of their popped balloon scatter beneath their feet. They must have frightened another pair of people in the center of the dance floor because theirs popped as well.

“And that concludes our first round!” The MC spoke out over the crowd. “Congratulations to those who have made it though. Now let’s see if your luck persists during round two!”

You looked at Hoseok and he looked back, previously open expression dropped. No words were exchanged, but you already knew that the conversation would be dropped.

Hoseok’s back was warm from where it pressed up against yours, the chairs you sat in doing nothing to stop it from seeping into your skin. In your hands was a tablet, screen displaying the game that the two of you were about to play. The goal was to “defuse a bomb” by following the manual filled with instructions. Which sounded easy in retrospect, but seeing as how the only way you could get said instructions was by Hoseok reading them off the packet in his grasp.

You weren’t allowed to look at the manual, and he wasn’t allowed to look at the tablet screen. And somehow, some way, you were supposed to “defuse the bomb” in five minutes. The MC had said something about testing your ability to communicate with one another, blah, blah, blah. All you knew was that there was no way you were going to lose the stupid competition.

Even if you had to deal with Hoseok’s frustrated grumbling.

“Just tell me which wire I need to cut, Jung!” Or perhaps it was you who was doing the frustrated grumbling. But eh, semantics. The tablet screen was displaying a section of the “bomb” that had four wires criss-crossing one another and you were only allowed to “cut” one of them.

“I already told you,” Hoseok grunted. “The blue one.”

“There’s two blue ones!”

“Then cut the one that’s more blue!”

“They’re the same color you idiot!”

“Stop yelling, I’m trying to read!” He huffed, the sound of paper turning accompanying it. Around the room, the noise level was a cacophony of people talking over one another. The closer the five minutes got to being over, the higher the voices rose. “It says, ‘if there is a red wire—’”

“I only have two blue’s and two white’s!”

“Cut the first blue wire then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, L/n.”

“Fine.” A pause as you tapped on the screen and waited for it to do something. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie—oh wait, no, there’s a little x on the screen. Okay I think we’re good with that one.” You didn’t even have to look back to see Hoseok’s face to know that he was rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Now it’s showing a square with four different symbols inside it. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hold on.” He shuffled his papers in search of the next set of instructions. “Okay, it says ‘always press symbols higher in the column than lower in the column.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“How am I supposed to know? Do I look like the game designer?”

“You’re an Alpha, aren’t you supposed to have great leadership skills or something?”

“What does that even have to do with this?”

“Just give me the damn instructions, Jung!”

“You’re so pushy. No wonder you’re still single.” Hoseok didn’t give you a chance to respond to his jibe before he continued. “Push the symbol of the pitchfork first, then,” he halted for a second, more than likely trying to find his next words before continuing. “Press the one that looks like a pregnant letter T.”

“A what?”

“I know you know what I’m talking about!”

You scrutinized the symbols before going with the one he described, not that you’d ever tell him it was pretty accurate. “Now what?”

“Next is the one that looks like a football goal.” (“God, you’re such a jock.”) “And then push the last one.”

Your finger tapped the screen and a noise escaped your throat when all of the panels on the “bomb” turned green and the timer stopped counting down. “Oh, hell yes!”

“What? Did we beat it?” Hoseok’s head tilted in your direction without him actually having to look back at you.

“Fuck yeah!” Okay, so maybe you were shouting a little too loudly and maybe all of the other couples who had yet to finish the game were giving you looks, but it wasn’t your fault that you were the first team to win.

“Yeah?” Hoseok finally turned to face you, torso twisting in his chair in order to do so. His face was lit up in excitement, the adrenaline of trying to complete the game sparking to life in his beautifully expressive brown eyes.

“Yeah!” It was unusual for an Omega to be competitive, but you couldn’t help your inherent desire to win. If you were to analyse it, a therapist would probably say that it was more than likely due to growing up competing with the man who sat at your back. (But you weren’t a therapist.)

You weren’t sure who went for it first, who moved, who decided to cross that boundary. But one moment you were looking up at his face, and the next your nose was pressed into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Hoseok’s arm was wrapped around your upper back and both of yours were loops around his neck.

The celebratory hug didn’t last long, just enough for his scent — gentle and earthy like petrichor right before it rained — before the both of you pulled away like you’d been electrocuted. An awkward silence followed the accidental physical contact and you weren’t sure where you were supposed to look. But it wasn’t at him.

And you definitely did not miss the feeling of being pressed to his chest.

(Or maybe Hoseok was right and you were a terrible liar. Even to yourself.)

The second round had eliminated a majority of the remaining contestants. Now all that was left were you and Hoseok, a petite woman with a contrastingly tall man, and two average height men. Since your team had come in first place during the last round, you were relegated to nonsensically going last in the final one. With the previous eliminated couples allowed back into the ballroom, you had quite the audience.

Sitting in another chair in the middle of the dance floor, you fiddled with the whiteboard and marker in your hands. You were facing Hoseok so the two of you couldn’t cheat by looking at what the other person was writing. The MC stood between and a little behind both of you, lips pulled up into a smile as she held a stack of cards in her hand.

You’d only ever seen this game played at the weddings of family members you’d gone to over the years, so why they’d chosen to have to (what they thought) complete strangers play it was a mystery to you. Something about “getting to know one another” and “testing compatibility” bullshit and the couple who got the highest answers correct was the winner.

Whatever.

When the MC asked her first question, you were ready.

“Okay, let’s begin! First question, write down which one of the two of you that you believe owns more clothes than the other.” Holding back an eye roll, you quickly scribbled down your answer with the dry-erase marker at the same time that Hoseok did. “Now show us your boards!”

You turned yours with a flick of your wrist, Hoseok’s name written across the surface in ink. It came as no surprise at all that he’d also penned himself down; he’d always been on top of all of the trends in the fashion world so you knew for a fact that his closet greatly exceeded yours.

“Would you look at that!” The MC crowed. “Already so in sync!”

(Unbeknownst to you both, your faces mirrored the same grimace as you erased your boards.)

“Second question: who do you believe is the most stubborn?”

That one took a bit more thought, your eyes flickering up to watch as Hoseok easily scrawled on his board. You already knew what he was going to write and you wanted to win, and you’d do whatever it took to do so. Even if it meant admitting something that wasn’t true.

At the MC’s cue, your boards flipped around to display your name written down on both of them. You glared. The crowd aw’d. The MC squealed at how “you were on the same wavelength.”

“Who’s most likely to cry during a movie?” Hoseok.

“Who do you think is the smartest.” You (much to your surprise that he wrote that down).

“Who has to have the final word during an argument?” You. That one took a little longer to decide with the two of you eyeing each other over the tops of your boards.

“Who got better grades in school?” A snort and the sound of your marker dragging across the board to scribble your own name down.

“Who’s the better dancer?” Hoseok, of course. Who could forget him dancing in the school hallways early in the morning before people even deigned to enter the place?

“If you were to become a couple, who would wear the pants in the relationship.” That question had you glaring and fingers cramping as you dug the tip of the marker into the board. Both was scribbled down on each.

“How about this one: who do you think is the better kisser?” The time in Jackson Wang’s basement popped to the forefront of your mind. It’d been years, but you could still remember the feel of Hoseok’s lips moving against yours and the taste of him on your tongue. You paused, marker hovering over the board before you took a deep, silent breath and wrote your answer down.

That was the first question that the two of you got wrong. With his board displaying your name and yours displaying his, all you could do was stare. Hoseok’s mouth was pressed into a line, not one of his angry ones, but the one he would unconsciously do whenever he was thinking hard on something. You weren’t sure what it was, nor did you have the time to try and figure it out.

“Aw, the first question they’ve gotten wrong. Or did they get it right?” Cue a wink from the MC and a few chuckles from the crowd. “How about we get a little more serious with the final question, hm? Who do you believe would be the first to fall in love with the other?”

You were positive that that would be the second question the two of you would get wrong, but you wrote your answer down anyway. When the cue came to flip them over, you felt your heart stutter. Lips part in surprise. Breath catch in your throat.

Hoseok looked at you with his lips pressed in that thin line, espresso hued, deep set eyes displaying an emotion that you’d never seen before. Never thought would be aimed at you. The whiteboard clutched between your hands shook as you read his over and over and wondered at what it meant (and if you were going to lie to yourself again).

Hoseok was written down on both of your boards, much to the delight of the onlookers.

The MC announcing that the game was complete and that you and Hoseok were the winners was a blur. The cheers from the crowd were a blur. The way the MC held both of your hands as she congratulated you and gifted you with your prizes was a blur.

Hoseok’s refusal to look at you was the only thing that was crystal clear. His back, his broad shoulders cloaked in his black satin tuxedo jacket, the nape of his neck, were the only things you could see. You didn’t get the chance to even speak to him until the elevator doors leading up to the penthouse slid shut.

The MC had sent you off with the key and a wink and a promise that the aforementioned eight hundred dollars was awaiting the two of you in the penthouse suite. Silence engulfed the steel box as it ascended that was neither awkward, nor tense—just heavy. You couldn’t stand it. So you wouldn’t.

“Hoseok.”

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, back braced against the elevator wall.

“Why did you write your name down for that question?”

“Which one? There were dozens.”

“You still suck at telling the truth.”

A pause hovered in the air, the red digital numbers above the elevator continuing to count upwards. And then he spoke. “I was telling the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok laughed breathily. Not of amusement, not of someone who’d found something particularly funny. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so all you could do was nod.

“I’d been wanting to kiss you since you threw that box of crayons at my head.” He turned to look at you, eyes deep and open and luminescent. “And I’ve been thinking about doing it again ever since that game of spin-the-bottle.”

Your mouth opened and closed, words stuck in your throat until you forced yourself to cough them out. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

He scoffed. “Why would I? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Hoseok.” The syllables of his first name were unfamiliar on your tongue, but you loved the taste of them anyway. “I’ve never hated you.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. “Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Okay, no, that was a lie,” you mumbled. “I didn’t hate you until after that kiss. But it was only because I’d never wanted it to end.”

“What are you saying?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” You shot back without any heat.

“Maybe,” he hummed, lifting a hand to brush against your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered closed when his nose brushed yours. That was the only warning you got before he captured your mouth with his. Hoseok’s lips were just as soft as you remembered, his kiss just as slow, taste just as intoxicating. You involuntarily sighed into his mouth when his teeth caught your bottom lip and tugged.

“I love you,” he breathed into the crevice of your neck.

You sighed. A soft, gentle thing that had the corners of his mouth ticking upwards. “I love you too.”

A pause and then:

“Even though you’re annoying.”

Hoseok’s laugh shook both his frame and yours and you couldn’t help the giggle that harmonized.

tagged: @kotaevln​ @ladyartemesia @alana-ba @lifegoesondotcom @ardoren @awsome-small-k @chimchimsauce @jjamsbangtan @ohheyitssj @bewitch-me @lovetic @veronawrites @lilacdreams-00 @clarissalance​ @daydreambrliever @unicornbabylover @taestannie​ @forever-once-gone @outrofenty @hoseokslefteyebrow @1am9root6 @btsmylife21 @fireheart2003 @iv-bts

[cinnaminsvga]

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font. 

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious. 

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie​ because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

[yourstarvic]

“We finally here!” Atsumu said with joy as everyone walked past the Itachiyama school gates, with a slight skip in his steps.

You smiled at Atsumu's behavior as you walked next to Suna. Nudging your elbow to Suna, you said, “How come you never act like that?”

“You want me to act like an idiot?” Suna said plainly as he looked at the blonde setter weirdly.

You rolled your eyes at him but before you could say anything, Atsumu turned around and glared at him, “I don’t act like an idiot.”

You laughed as Suna responded with, “Then stop being an idiot.”

“That’s enough,” Kita said to the two of them. Causing the two to freeze in their spot while you giggled at them as you walked. Kita walked past them as he then said, “We are at another school so behavior.”

You giggled as you turned your head back and saw everyone walking around the two frozen boys. Shaking your head at them, you and the rest of the team continued to follow the two coaches. A few moments later, you heard footsteps chasing after the group, alerting everyone Suna and Atsumu recovered from their fear.

Reaching the gyms, you saw both of the Itachiyama coaches waiting outside, as well as seeing Shiratorizawa’s players and coaches. One of the Itachiyama coaches saw the team finally arriving yelled out happily, “Nice to see you finally arrived! Always late I see.”

“Would you rather have us not here at all?” Coach Kurosu chuckled as he went up to the coaches. He then turned to face the group as he said, “I and Oomi-Sensei will go talk to the coaches about our sleeping arrangements so we can settle out stuff. In the meantime, wait here until further instructions. I’m talking to you Atsumu.”

“I always follow instructions,” Atsumu muttered, causing everyone to laugh at him.

You then walked over to the Shiratorizawa group, wanting to say hi to them. As you got closer, you waved your hand to a certain redhead, “Tendo!”

“(Y/n)!” Tendo cheered with a smile, running up to you. Reaching you, Tendo was quick to put both of his hands on your cheek and squishing them. “I miss you so much!”

“I miss you too,” you said as Tendo continued to squish your cheeks together, forcing your lips to look like fish lips. “But can you please squishing my face?”

“Fine,” Tendo pouted as he stopped squishing them, but decided to poke your cheeks instead, “but I see the bendy boy is still a member.”

“Of course I’m still a member,” You head Suna scoffed behind you. “And I’ll like it if you get your hands off my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Tendo said in horror, taking a step back and clenching his shirt where his heart will be. The horror on his face grew as he saw Suna wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “There’s no way someone great as she will be your girlfriend! She’s an angel, a miracle. While you are a bendy boy with flat parted hair.”

“What did you say about my har?” Suna said with a vein-popping in anger. Unwrapping his arm around, he took a step closer to the red hair. You took a step back as you look at the two arguing. Seeing there will be no end to their petty arguments, you silently backed away and headed to talk to someone else.

You smiled as you saw the ace/captain of the team as well their third-year setter. With a happy smile, you walked up to them and strike up a conversation with them. Soon later Aran joined the conversation as well. But throughout the conversation, your eyes kept looking down at a certain captain’s arms.

“Hey Ushijima-San,” you said with an innocent smile, “do you know anything about muscles in your arms?”

“No, not really,” Ushijima said as he stared at you.

“Would you like to know about them?” You asked innocently as you gave him a beaming smile.

“It could be beneficial to learn about them,” Ushijima said thoughtfully.

“(Y/n),” Aran said in a warning voice. 

But you waved him off as you hold onto one of Ushijima's biceps. You then told him all of the muscles that you remember that was in the arm as you continued to squeeze his arms and hold onto them. 

Semi raised his eyebrows as he looked at you, having an amused smile as he watches you feeling Ushijima’s muscles. Ushijima looked at you as you felt his muscles, thinking you wanted to inform him. He would occasionally flex his arms at your request, missing the dreamy sigh that came out of your lips and the excited look in your eyes. Aran let out a disappointed sigh, knowing that nothing is going to stop you.

“Hey Aran,” you said to your captain as you squeezed Ushijima biceps, “can you come over here? I want to see something.”

“No-” Aran started. But he then looked at your smiling face. Your beautiful beaming smiling face that you gave him. Your eyes looking at him with so much joy and happiness, your eyes fluttering innocently as you stared at him. “Where do you want me to stand?”

“Over here,” you waved him towards you, standing in-font of Ushijima and next to you. Leaving one hand on Ushijima, you placed your other hand on Aran’s biceps. You continued to explain the muscles in the arms and squeezing each of their biceps with a blissful smile. Since you were so busy with Ushijima and Aran, you didn’t realize a few others were joining. 

“Wakatoshi-Kun,” you heard a deep voice behind Ushijima. Leaning back a bit and turned to the side, you saw Sakusa and his icon mask staring at the three of you.

“Hello, Sakusa,” Ushijima said as he turned around. 

Sakusa was about to respond but you say something, “Sakusa-San!”

“It’s good to see you (Y/n),” Sakusa said plainly.

“It’s good to see you too!” You exclaimed, taking your hands off of Kita’s and Ushijima’s arms. You dig in your bag and grabbed a pair of medical gloves and hand sanitizer. Sakusa, Ushijima, Aran, and Semi watched as you applied hand sanitizer and then put on the gloves as you said. “Do you know anything about the muscles in your arms?” You asked innocently, taking a step close to him, “Because I can show you where your muscles are and what they do.”

“No, thank you,” Sakusa said as he eyes your hands.

“You sure?” You pouted at him, “I made sure to sanitize my hands and to wear gloves…”

Sakusa uncomfortably looked at you. Not because of your germs or anything, he knew you were a clean person and you did sanitize and put on gloves to help him more comfortable. He was uncomfortable because of the pout you were forming and how your eyes looked so said with his rejection. Also with how many Inarizaki members were glaring at him behind your back. Was it because he rejected you? Or was it because they don’t want him near you?

“I’m sure,” Sakusa said, but he soon regretted when he saw how sad you looked. “Fine…But only for 2 minutes.”

You looked at him happily once he gave you his consent. You were about to touch his arm but someone was quick to stop you. Suna suddenly appeared in front of you, taking your bag, and hosted you over your shoulder saying, “Coach came back and told us our sleeping arrangement.”

“B-But,” you said, putting both hands on his back, trying to look over his shoulder, “I need to show Sakusa-San his arm muscles.”

“You need to unpack and get ready for our short practice later tonight,” Suna said plainly as he walked to the guest dorms. He chuckled softly when he heard you let out a puff and felt you give up. “I can give you a kiss to make it up for it.”

“Shut up.”

“Chance ball!”

“I got it!”

You heard the boys yell as they played a practice game. Your eyes kept darting back and forth from the game to the notebook and pencil in your hand. They were going against Nohebi, a school that was located in Tokyo. You sneered when you heard the captain say when it was Suna’s turn to serve, “He doesn’t know how to jump serve! Sad for someone from an Inarizaki second year.”

Good thing Suna didn’t mind what they said since he did a nice serve. Leading the Libero to receive it to their setter, who set to the captain to spike. But Osamu was quick to block it. You smiled as you saw how early you blocked him, whispering an excited, “Yes!”

You felt Yuna glaring at you in the corner of her eye, but you ignored it, pretend you didn’t feel her stare. As if she wanted you to remind you of something, Yuna cheered loudly, “Good job blocking him my sweet sugary baby! You’re the star of the team!”

Everyone on the court wasn’t paying attention to what Yuna was saying since they were too busy trying to get the ball to Atsumu to set the ball. But everyone on the sidelines and those who were near all cringe at the sound of her yelling, not liking her high pitch voice. 

Taking a deep sigh, you did your best to ignore her as you made a face. Looking back at the match, you saw Atsumu setting the ball to Suna, who slammed the ball over the net, right at the person who commented his spike early. The person should stand in shock, trying to comprehend what had happened. You chuckled as you saw Suna smirked at them and said to Osamu that was next to him, “He doesn’t know how to block. Sad for someone from a Nohebi third year.”

“Behavior,” Kita said out-loud, making sure Suna heard. 

You chuckled as you saw Suna froze and statically walked to the service line. Right when you were about to write down a note, the couches called you and Yuna. Giving them your attention, both of you looked at him as he said, “Sorry for telling you two last minute, but the kitchen staff is having their day off today. Can one of you go help with the other managers and the other help out with the team?”

“(Y/n)-Chan will love to help out with the other managers!” Yuna insisted on you, giving the coaches a happy smile. “I’ll stay here with the team!”

“That sounds good,” Oomi-Sensei nodded his head, “is that good (Y/n)?”

“Sounds good,” you gave them a smile and nodded your head. Turning to face Yuna, you handed her the notebook and pencil, “Here, you need to take notes on anything you see with the team. As I said before, take notes on the habits they do, good and bad. Also if you have any ideas on how they can fix something, write it down.”

“I know what to do,” Yuna rolled her eyes at you as she grabbed the notebook from you.

“Good,” you sighed out. Turning back to face the match, you saw Inarizaki scored another point. You made eye contact with Suna, who raised an eyebrow in concern as he saw how annoyed you look. Giving him a smile in assurance, you gave him a short wave as you turned around and exited the gym, heading towards the kitchen. 

As you walked in the kitchen doors, you saw two of the Itachiyama mangers sitting near the metal island, having a small conversation. “I thought we were supposed to be cooking?” You smirked as you crossed your arms and leaned against the wall

They both jumped at your voice, not prepared to see you standing at the entrance. They both turned to face you with a hand on their chest. “You scared us,” Sara said in relief when she saw you.

“You could have knocked,” Yui said, giving you a playful glare.

“I’m sorry,” you genuinely said as you walked over to the metal island and leaning forward on it. 

“Well, anyway,” Yui said, nudging your shoulder with hers, “we were talking about what we should make for dinner.”

“We can make our favorite?” You chined in.

“We could,” Sara put a finger on her chin in a thoughtful manner, “we have the ingredients and we have the time.”

“Let’s do it!” Yui said excitedly, standing up from her chair. She then rushed to the fridge and started to gather the ingredients.

You sweatdropped at her excitement, turning to face Sara as you said, “What took so long to decided what to make?”

“We were talking about Yuna,” she said nervously. “She seems…Nice?”

“No, she’s not,” you said plainly.

“Oh that goodness,” Sara breathed out, “so you hate her too?”

“With a burning passion,” you said, smiling at her relief.

“I told you,” Yui said as she placed the ingredients on the table and headed to the sink, “there was no way, (Y/n) would have liked her. I bumped into her to the restroom and she was so rude!”

“You think that was rude,” you said as you took off your Inarizaki jacket and placed it on Yui’s chair, “you should have seen what she did a few weeks ago. Remember when I told y’all about the honey being dumped on me?”

“No,” Sara's mouth gapped in disbelief, turning her head away from washing her hands. Yui was looking at you with wide eyes as she was drying her hands with a towel in total shock as you continued.

“That was her,” you nodded your head at them with a frown, "I just found out."

“That bitch!” Yui yelled at loud.

“Language,” Sara said as she started to prepare the vegetables.

Chucking awkwardly, Yui apologized. You rolled your eyes at them as you started to prepare the ingredients. Throughout preparing dinner, the three of you all talked and laugh, catching up on everything. 

“But I heard something,” Yui said, giving you a sly smirked, “I heard our little (Y/n) is with someone, a certain middle blocker someone.”

“As much as I don’t want to intrude,” Sara smiled, “this is something we need to know!”

“So tell us everything!” Yui said excited, “When did it happen? Was he your first kiss? How was your first date? Have you two…You know? The thing?”

“I think that's enough questions from you,” Sara said, giving her a warning glare.

“Well, um,” you said with an awkward laugh. Trying to swallow your nervousness, trying your best to answer her questions with a small blush, “No, me and Rin haven’t-”

“Rin!” Yui yelled in excitement, “Already on first name basis!”

“They been on a first-name basis,” Sara said in an obvious look. 

“Right,” Yui chuckled awkwardly.

“W-Well,” you started, “to answer your questions, no me and rin haven’t done…That. We were each other's first kiss-But before you say something Yui, this happened when we were in grade school.”

Yui was quick to pout, sad that it wasn’t a special first kiss. Sara just rolled her eyes at her co-manager, silent questioning what goes through her head.

“Also…” you swallowed. Looking around the room and seeing no one else wasn’t standing by the door, you beaconed them with a wave of your hand. The two Itachiyama managers noticed that you had something important to say. They put the cooking equipment down and turned down the stove, then walked over to you. Putting your hand over your mouth in a whispering manner. Sara and Yui both leaned closer to you, as you scanned the area once again. Letting out a sigh, you whispered, “Rin and I aren’t dating… It’s an act.”

Leaving back, you gave them a wide smile and said, “So what else do we need to do?”

Sara and Yui both looked at you with a deadpan expression, slowly trying to process what you just said. “W-What?” Yui asked, leaning back into her regular posture, “You two are…faking it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s all an act?”

“All of it.”

“B-But when Rin was carrying you?” Sara asked. “That was because I was going to touch Sakusa-San’s muscles,” you chuckled awkwardly, remembering the events.

I need to stop ticking people into letting me touch their muscles… But they are so…Muscly…

“Weirdly,” Yui said with an understanding nod, “that makes sense.”

“Why are you acting?” Sara asked, wanting to understand the situation.

Letting out a sigh, you went back to cooking you explained, “Yuna only joined to be with Osamu and to keep on eye on me.”

“An eye on you?”

“She thinks I’m trying to steal him,” you rolled your eyes, “which is so laughable since there’s no way I want him.”

“Basically,” Yui concluded, “she’s one of those.”

“Yup,” you said, letting out a sigh, “but she’s more like her.”

“I’m so sorry,” they both said to you.

You just shrugged it off as you replied, “It’s okay… I can get through this… Besides practice is almost over and we need to start setting up!”

“Right!”

After the boys ate, you and the other managers (excluding Yuna) were cleaning up. Sara was wiping down the kitchen, you were doing the dishes, and Yui was wiping down the tables in the cafeteria section. Sara and Yui finished before you, so you told them to go ahead while you finished doing the dishes.

Few moments after they left, you heard a knock at the entrance of the kitchen. Looking down at the dish you were cleaning you said, “I told you, Sara, I’m okay with doing the dishes.”

“Good for you?” You heard a deep voice, “But I’m not Sara.”

“Miya,” you said as you turn your head off your shoulder to look at him, “what do you want?”

“Don’t have to be so harsh,” Osamu said as he walked to the fridge, “just wanted a snack.”

“Didn’t you have dinner with four bowls of rice?” You asked him with a semi-disguised look.

Finding an apple in the fridge, Osamu took it and proceed to take a bite of it. In the middle of chewing the apple, he turned to face you and said, “Yeah, and?”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full,” you wrinkled your face in disguise. You looked back down at the sink and continued to do the dishes. Osamu walked over to you and sanded next to you with his back leaning against the counter and one hand leaning on it. Your annoyance grew as you felt Osamu's eyes looking at you and down in the sink filled with dishes, hearing him taking loud bites of the apple. “Can I help you?” You asked, looking up at him with an annoyed look.

“Yeah,” Osamu said plainly, “hide me from Atsumu and Yuna.”

“I understand Atsumu,” you rolled your eyes at him and went back to do these dishes, “but Yuna? Don’t want to be with your honey bunny?”

“Very funny,” Osamu said when you said his nickname, “but she’s annoying me and won’t let me breathe.”

“Honestly, why are you with her?” You asked him.

“Why do you hate me?” Osamu counter backed.

“If I answer your question will you answer mine?” You smirked at him.

“Deal.”

“It was few weeks before I joined the club, and we just started school” you started, “Me and Rin were heading to the convenience store to pick up snacks to eat later on the day. On our way to school, you were running in the opposite direction and bumped into me and we both fell.”

“That’s why you hate me?”

“I didn’t finish,” you said as you placed the last dish on the rack and dried your hands with a towel. “It was how we landed that bothered me. Your head landed on my…Chest. But instead of you getting up and apologize, you nuzzled your head further in my chest and said, ‘so soft and so squishy’ and that was when I pushed you off.”

“I’m going, to be honest with you,” Osamu said as he took a final bite of his apple, “I don’t remember that.”

“How do you not remember that?” You said in disbelief, “Your head was on my chest!”

“Was it the day before the sports festival?” Osamu asked you with eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, it was?” You rolled your eyes, “Why does that matter?”

“I was sick during that week,” Osamu said with an amusing smile, “that whole week I was sick with food poisoning. Only Atsumu went to school.”

“What?” You said, blinking your eyes repeated.

“This whole time,” Osamu laughed, “you were thinking it was me but it was ‘Tsumu!”

“But when I started as a manager,” you said, pointing at him, “I confronted you!”

“But do you remember what I said when you did?” Osamu smirked at you, poking your head with his finger, “ I said I had no idea what you were talking about.”

“Oh my god,” you said, running your hands through your hair, “this whole time I thought it was you who embarrassed me but it was Atsumu…”

“Before you say anything,” Osamu smirked widen, feeling victorious, “I’ll take that apology now or we can just forget about me punching Akito… That works too.”

“Where is he?”

“Where is who?” Osamu asked you when he heard a dark tone in your voice.

“Your brother,” you sneered.

“H-He’s at in Gym 4 with Sakusa and the others,” Osamu stuttered, scared that he was witnessing you one anger.

“Perfect,” you gritted your teeth, walking out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” Osamu said, running after you, “wait for me!”

Osamu followed behind you but made sure to keep a distance. He’s seen you mad multiple times (mostly at him) but, he’s never seen you this bad before. Your face looked neutral, but your eyes held the most emotion. You walked past Semi who wanted to say hi but stopped when he saw your angry form, quick to make way for you. He gave Osamu a concerned look but he just shocked his head at him, not wanting to explain.

Finally arriving at the gym, you waited outside of the doors. With the door open, you saw Sakusa, Komori, and Tendo on one side of the court when the other side held Atsumu, Suna, and Ushijima. Your eyes twitched when you saw Atsumu have a carefree smile as he was beginning to serve. With a big sigh, you marched into the gym with a sneer, “Miya Atsumu!”

“Oh shit,” Suna whispered, knowing the look in your eye. But he was quick to grab his phone to record the events.

“(Y-Y/n),” Atsumu whimpered, scared the way you look at him and how you said his name. “W-What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You yelled, pointing a finger at him, “You are what’s wrong!”

“Finally,” Sakusa smiled at the events, “someone is putting him in his place.”

“It was you the whole time!” You sneered, “This whole time I thought it was Osamu who nuzzled my chest but it was you!”

“You found out,” Atsumu whimpered, slowly take a step away, “I-I was going to tell you.”

“You were going to tell me?” You said with an angry confused look, “When were you going to tell me?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” Atsumu said, his back hitting the wall of the gym, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You repeated with a smile, “You’re sorry? For not telling me? For not saying anything sooner? For making Osamu taking the blame?”

“E-Everything.”

“I forgive you,” you breathed out, making Atsumu sighed out in relief. But he then caught if breathe when you continued, “If you do something first.”

“I-I’ll do anything!” Atsumu said with pleading eyes, holding his hands in prayer.

“Stand on the line,” you whispered to him with an evil smile, “and face the wall behind you.”

Atsumu was quick to do as you said, sweating nervously as he waited for you. You walked calmly to the other side of the court, making sure to get the basket filled with volleyballs as you did so. You motion everyone to join you as you did, especially Sakusa and Ushijima. Making sure Atsumu heard what you said, you said loudly, “Can you guys give me tips on how to do a powerful serve?”

“Focus on where you want to aim,” Sakusa said quickly with a smirk, understanding what you were trying to do, “I usually add a spin so my opponents can’t receive it but in this case, it's best to try and hit as hard as you can. I’ll show you.”

“Perfect,” you smiled handing him a ball, “but give him a warning serve.”

Sakusa thanked you as he grabbed the ball and went to the service line. He did a perfect jump serve, barely missing Atsumu's head. Atsumu let out a shriek, feeling the gush of wind as the volleyball went past him. 

“Do you think you can do that?” Sakusa asked you with a satisfied smile.

“I think I need everyone to do a demonstration,” you said innocently, looking at everyone, “is that okay?”

“I do need to work on my aim,” Ushijima said plainly, grabbing a ball from the basket. Everyone all agreed as they each grabbed a ball, except for Suna and Komori who only want to look at the scene in amusement. Everyone else lined up, waiting for their turn to serve a ball near Atsumu’s head. Every time they would serve, they would give you tips on what you could do. 

“You think you got it (Y/n)-Chan?” Tendo asked you with an evil smile.

Thinking you understand, you then went to the service line and proceed to mimic what they did. You were a little sloppy, but it was good enough to hit Atsumu in the back of the head. You smiled when the ball came in contact with Atsumu’s head, making his head flinch forward. “You are now forgiven Atsumu!” You said happily with a smile.

Atsumu turned around and face you with a pale dead face, giving you a thumbs up. Walking over to the group, Atsumu looked at everyone as said, “I-I’m going to get going now…”

“Goodnight!” You said innocently, waving at him as he walked off. Turning to the others, you then instructed them, “But it is getting late, we should start cleaning up and start heading back to the dorms.”

Everyone all agreed and started to clean up, grabbing the stray balls around the gym, and cleaning the floors. Once everything was done, everyone walked outside as you closed the door saying, “I need to go back to the kitchen to finish something, y’all can go on ahead.”

“Want me to come with?” Suna asked you as everyone left.

Taking your head, you waved him off, “I just need to lock the doors, you can go on ahead.”

“Nah,” Suna said, walking towards the direction of the kitchen, “it's dark and I know how easily scared you are.”

“Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. The two of you walked in silence, enjoying each other's company. Arriving at the kitchen, you made sure everything was clean and tidy. Grabbing your jackets that were on the stool, you walked out and locked the gym with the key that was given to you by Sara. Walking to the dorm rooms that Itachiyama provide for your stay, Suna asked, “So it was Atsumu the whole time?”

“Yup.”

“Does that mean you and Osamu are going to be on better terms?”

“He’s still annoying.”

“But about that date?”

“Looks like we are here,” You smiled at him when both of you arrived at the dorms. Talking in a singing voice, you waved at him, “Goodnight Rin.”

“I’m going to get that date,” Suna said to himself.

MASTERPOST-PREV-NEXT

Fun Facts:

(Y/n) still doesn't know if Suna is joking or not.

Sakusa would “accidentally” aim the ball at him, sometimes hitting him durning practice matches and once in an actual match.

Her is someone who use to be an assistant manager in Itachiyama who was in love with Sakusa

Sara, Yui, and (Y/n) don't know why there are so many fangirls. Everyone is a volleyball brain idiot.

No one knows how to say no to (Y/n), only Suna knows how.

(Y/n), Kita, and Sakusa always text each other to talk bad about Atsumu and cleaning tips

Suna didn’t know it was Atsumu who bumped into (y/n).

Atsumu and Osamu didn’t bleached their hair until the end of the first year.

Aran, Suna, and Atsumu all taught (Y/n) how to serve. She’s not perfect at it but she’s almost there.

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