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shuastar · 14 days ago

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KISS 'ER UP (CHV) pt. 1

pairing: baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader wc: 10.9k warnings: nothing for now; SLIGHTLY unrealistic meet-cute but whatever we pick and choose our battles; DO NOT meet with strangers after only knowing them for a month even if they're ridiculously hot and chwe hansol (I REPEAT DO NOT). a/n: im baaaaaaaaack!! (cue mariah carey) i am so excited to be back with a new story. this one is shorter than my wonwoo one but still (hopefully) interesting and good. ive always been a baseball fan so this is really fun for me to write up, especially with vernon as the player!! this is my first time including text message-ish things inside the story so lmk after the first part comes up if i should change the style into an actual "fake chat" picture thing that the smau's use. anyways thank u always for reading <3 taglist form here!!

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Late March was not supposed to be this cold – fleece-lined hoodie under the pink and blue jersey, thick jeans paired with Ugg boots you had stored away for the winter until just yesterday when the weather had suddenly plummeted into the lower degrees, freezing your ass off on the 28th of March.

The jam-packed stadium – open air – did nothing to chill the cold that was slowly pressing into your bones and the wind-nipped red-blushed cheeks.

Your leg bounces as you lean over your knees to squint at the pitcher from the other team – Doosan Bears – toss the fat piece of chalk to the ground, a plume of white following in its wake. Your hands are rubbing up and down your jeans as if that would warm you up in this cold.

The next batter walks out from the dugout and from your seat, you can see each and every strand of hair poking out from under Kim Mingyu’s helmet as he takes his leisurely walk to the home plate. From behind you in the main arena – where you should have been sitting until Kim Chaewon gave you her fucking floor next-to-the-dugout seat because she wanted to sit with her boyfriend in the main seats – a roar of approval echoes through the stadium. And when Mingyu taps his bat against the bruised white of the home plate, stretching his neck as he gets into position, you can hear the very loud singing of his fan chant against the announcers’ commentary of his stats throughout the season (well, throughout the last four games).

Mingyu is good. He’s tall, strong, and can hit a ball as well as any of the Doosan players combined. You nod in approval and sit back against the chair, picking up your cup of beer from the ground by your feet, sipping as Mingyu lets a ball fly through.

You can’t help but glance at the scoreboard: 3 to 1. And it’s the 5th inning. If Mingyu can get the ball into a homerun – like what everyone else was chanting behind you – it would bring home at least 3 players and this game would be in your pocket. And seriously. Doosan was falling off this year anyways, so it should only be natural that you should win, especially with last year’s All-Round Rookie of the Year (Lee Chan) and last year’s KMLB’s MVP and MIP (Lee Jihoon and Vernon Chwe).

You can only watch, only slightly anxious, as Mingyu raises his bat again, squinting against the setting sun and bright stadium lights.

It’s like a blur.

You blink once and then the ball is a millimetre from Mingyu’s swinging bat.

CRACK!!

The bat slams into the ball and Mingyu – as well as the rest of the stadium – watches for one second as it soars in the air. And before cheers can even interrupt Doosan’s boos, Mingyu is off like a flash, feet kicking up dust as he rounds first base, then second, and then third.

Your jaw unhinges ever so slightly as his ball flies well over even the furthest of Doosan’s outfielders, over their heads and into the mass of Diamond fans at the other side of the stadium.

The cheers are deafening when the ball lands perfectly in some lucky bitch’s lap, too busy filming herself on the jumbotron to actually cheer for her team. The cheers are heart-pounding when Dino, followed by Joshua, and then Mingyu race into home, their screams of delight mixing in with the fans’ booming fanchants of their names.

From where you stand, beer forgotten on the ground, hands raised as you almost violently shake the team towel, you can almost read the team’s lips as they cheer amongst themselves. Next to you, another fan screams and screams as the jumbotron switches to the disappointed scowls of the Doosan fans.

When your throat feels raw from the screaming, you slowly sit down, heart pounding in your ears and grin stretching wide.

What a way to spend a Friday night.

Suddenly, the cheers die down, replaced with a familiar sort of music that only rings from the stadium speakers during a specific segment between the 5th and 6th inning.

Your eyes flicker up to the big screen from their past position trained on the players who were just a couple of steps from the side netting right next to you.

The Kiss Cam.

You glance next to you on the left only to see a pretty girl, maybe in her teens, laughing with her friends. You bite your lip, sighing in slight disappointment as the jumbotron shows a pair of people, both flushed from one too many drinks and waving their Diamond towels until the boy seems to recognize himself on the big screen, screams, and then grabs the girl next to him by the collar of her jersey and pulls her into the sloppiest and most drunken kiss you’ve had the displeasure of ever seeing.

Really, though. If you hadn’t switched seats with Chaewon, maybe you would have heightened your chances for your first ever Kiss Cam experience. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your jersey as the Kiss Cam picks its next victim. You swirl your beer. Five years you’ve been coming to baseball games and not once have you ever been on the Kiss Cam’s lucky victim.

“Kim Chaewon, I swear…” you mutter, pulling out your phone to text your bestfriend when the stadium suddenly erupts into ear-splitting screams. From the right of you, near the dugout, you hear a couple of chuckles.

And when you look up at the screen, expecting some romantic little couple kissing, you are met with Vernon Chwe’s god-given face.

And yours.

Stretched side by side on the big screen.

You blink owlishly before your eyes widen and your head whips to the right, only to come face to face with Vernon Chwe’s awkward sheepish grin, also slightly surprised by his sudden appearance on the Kiss Cam.

It feels like your throat is blocked – shoved with something thick and round that cuts off your speech. You don’t think you properly calculated how close you would be to the players in your seat until now.

Your eyes widen even further as you turn fully towards him, and Vernon – who was casually stretching right outside of the dugout – pauses mid-motion, blinking at the screen before bursting into surprised laughter. When he gives a little wave to the big screen, the stadium erupts and you can hear the high-pitched squeals of teenage girls in the crowd. His teammates are all over him too, hollering and nudging him like overgrown high schoolers and you can hear his laughter and his next few words stringed with disbelief: “Am I on the Kiss Cam?”

Vernon, bless his baseball soul, just smiles sheepishly, taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair as if that would somehow help him (and you!!) escape the entire stadium’s attention. As he pulls his cap back on, he gives a little shrug as if to say what can we do?, before turning back to the game, just in time for the Kiss Cam to move on.

The camera moves on.

You do not.

Your attention is still fixed on Vernon, even as the camera pans to a different set of people.

What the fuck just happened?

It seems like you’ve been staring for too long because Vernon turns, only to catch your stare, which makes him grin. You clear your throat (as if anyone is paying attention) and quickly turn your head, trying to cover your burning ears with your baseball cap, sinking further into your seat, your beer conveniently forgotten by your feet.

When you wished upon a broken star for a Kiss Cam moment, it wasn’t with a player. Not that you were complaining, of course not. But still. You would rather have a Kiss Cam with someone you could actually kiss instead of openly gawking at a dreadfully handsome player as your face is broadcasted to at least ten thousand people plus the players on the field.

“Hey.”

Your head snaps towards the voice and you nearly choke.

Vernon Chwe is against the fence, pulling the side netting down that separates your section from right outside of the dugout, just a couple feet away from your seat.

It feels like you lose your breath because holy shit there is no way someone born of natural means can look like the man who is in front of you right now. He could pass for a K-Pop idol or at least some kind of trainee with the way the light hits his cheekbones. His baseball cap is pulled over his messy hair and his baseball uniform is streaked with dirt from when he had slid Babe Ruth-style into 3rd base after Joshua had hit a middle-punt. He grins at you from under his cap like he’s talking to an old friend, not a complete stranger who was just screaming her vocal chords out when his teammate had hit a homerun.

His arms are crossed against the railing, looking at you – expression unreadable but eyes holding amusement, sparkling with some kind of curiosity.

“Me?” you ask. You clear your throat afterwards, voice oddly squeaky.

Come on, Y/n. You’ve done interviews with Vogue before. Get your shit together.

Vernon nods.

Well, Vernon Chwe is not Vogue, evidently.

His hand suddenly appears from its grasp on the ledge, his phone dangling from in between his thumb and middle finger.

When you lean forward, squinting to see his phone screen, you almost double back, falling out of your seat. Your head snaps up so quickly it almost gives you a whiplash, which Vernon evidently thinks is very funny because you see him stifle a laugh.

“Figured since the whole stadium thinks we’re a thing,” he stars, voice low enough that it only carries to you, “I might as well ask for your Instagram or something.”

You blink. “What?”

His lips curl into a half-smile.

“Can I get your Insta?” he asks, nodding to his phone. “You know, so we can at least pretend we know each other?”

“Isn’t that like, I dunno, considered a PR mess or something?” you blurt out, which Vernon also thinks is funny because he lets out a seagull-like laugh and makes a smile rise to your own face.

Your stomach flips when he smiles though.

Well, yeah, because he’s so much better looking in person and like a foot from your face, but also because holy shit Vernon Chwe just asked you for your Instagram.

And, yeah, you’re mutuals with a couple of celebrities. But that’s just a part of your job – design clothes, make clothes, sew in the details, and style it to their (your) taste. But this? This is definitely not work.

And you’re half of a mind to just pretend and ignore whatever Vernon said, act like you have a sudden bout of memory lapse. But your mouth moves before your brain does and you’re already reaching for his phone, fumbling a little as you mumble a “yeah, yeah sure,” as you type in your Instagram handle.

Vernon grins at you as you swallow, handing him his phone, now opened to the main page of your Instagram profile. When he grabs it, leaning forward just a little bit, your fingertips brush – just barely – but enough for you to retract your hand back like you are burned by a roaring flame.

When he glances down at his phone, his brows raise at your follower count.

“Dude, are you famous or something? Three point five million?” He glances up at you, almost expectantly.

You bite the inside of your cheek, mumbling sheepishly, “I’m a designer.”

“Oh cool,” he hums and you know he’s scrolling through your posts before his thumb presses against the bright blue FOLLOW button. “Very cool,” he mumbles.

And you swear he’s about to say something else but then a whistle blows. Vernon perks up, alert, at his coach’s booming voice, followed by Choi Seungcheol’s call for him.

He exhales, jumping off of the fence and stepping back, pocketing his phone.

“Gotta go,” he says. Then, with a grin, he raises a hand in a small wave, “Nice meeting you, Kiss Cam partner.”

And just like that, he’s gone, jogging to the dugout, laughing through a badly-made-up excuse about having to go to the bathroom or something as Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him.

You stare at your phone.

The most recent notification is from Instagram:

[vernonline followed you]

Holy. Shit.

Despite all your efforts to laugh it off (inside your head), you can’t help but break out into the goofiest, widest, mouth-splitting grin at the notification, staring at it in disbelief. This is definitely different from idols following you after you are asked to style them for an upcoming red carpet event. Or models following you after a particularly good photoshoot. This is Vernon Chwe. The Vernon Chwe that you saw Chaewon fangirl over after he hit two homeruns in one game during last season’s final in-season game. You’re also pretty sure you have his jersey hung up somewhere in your closet, next to the other Diamonds jersey that you forgot to wear today.

You look up from your phone, immediately tracking the bolded pink 12 that is making his way over to 2nd base for defense.

You run a hand through your hair, picking up your previously-discarded beer cup, trying to hide the enormous grin that is threatening to break out on your face.

Kiss Cam partner.

You let out a small laugh at the insanity of it.

The whistle blows for the start of the sixth inning.

And you try to forget about it. Afterall, he’s not the first professional athlete in your following.

And you do forget about it.

For a total of three days.

Because on the third day of successful forgetting, your phone lights up while you’re mid-sketch of your F/W collection that you have planned to release in August.

1 message from vernonline

You blink at the notification, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

You never expected him to text you.

I mean, after three days? You held out hope the night of the game, but he’s a professional athlete, with better things to do than entertain the Kiss Cam girl.

So you want to ignore it. It’s probably something stupid anyways. Or an accident, which seems more likely – he accidentally swiped up on your story, thinking it was someone else (if he even still followed you). Or maybe he’s drunk and you’re a booty call or something. So you want to ignore it. You really do. Plus, you’ve got to get these designs in by tomorrow morning to your assistant for her to send it off to the company.

But you find yourself clicking on the notification, tapping in your phone password to click on his icon.

And you almost laugh at the absurdity of his message.

Vernon 버논 Hey…so this happened lol [attached]

When you click on the photo, you actually laugh out loud, staring at the image for a second. Your lips twitch as the memory floods back. The picture itself is blurry: your shocked face next to Vernon who is mid-stretch next to the dugout. You can practically hear the crowd’s reaction in your head.

Except what are you supposed to say to this? You could leave him on read. Except someone about leaving him on read and never ever texting him against makes you just a little bit disappointed. So after a few more seconds of consideration – and saving the photo to your gallery – you tap out a response:

You great. my legacy.

He’s typing out a response almost immediately.

Vernon at least u looked good on camera i think thats a pretty solid legacy ngl

It’s actually abominable how your heart flutters at the words popping up on your bright phone screen. You look up from your phone, glancing around your dark and empty studio like someone is watching over your shoulder at your messages with Vernon. You feel like a teenager stuck in some really realistic Wattpad-esque rom-com.

And before you think it over, you send your response, your F/W designs completely forgotten in front of you.

You real solid if u erase the whole scared shitless portion

You cringe at your own response. You could have definitely said something more intellectual or less awkward than that.

Again, Vernon’s reply is almost immediate. So fast that you swear he’s staring at your chat screen (like you’re not doing the same thing).

Vernon: tbh gotta give it to the cameras

You blink.

Vernon: got to talk to u and everything

Oh.

This was enormously unfair – the effect his texts have on you. He’s such a dork too, asking for your Instagram just because you came on the Kiss Cam together like he’s not a world-class baseball player. But you find yourself smiling silly at your phone, legs curled up to your chest as you type out a response.

You stare at the screen longer than you should, the words settling into something you should definitely not be overthinking. Your phone feels warm in your hands, thrumming with your heartbeat that feels a little fast under the – no, don’t overthink. The dark of your studio feels a little too quiet. You press your lips together, exhaling sharply before clicking send.

You u mean u got to text me after staring at my insta for like an hr

A beat. For a second, his bubble doesn’t appear and you swear to God you’ve scared him off or something. You’re just about to unsend your message, praying that he didn’t see it, when his message pops up.

Vernon: bold assumption i only stared for like 10 min max

You snort, hand over your mouth as you giggle like you’re texting some situationship from highschool. You hate that he’s so funny.

You: glad u had time squeeze me into ur busy schedule

Vernon: had to shift sum things around but all good being pro is not for the weak

You laugh at that. You feel some weird kind of adrenaline coursing through you as you stand up from your desk chair to migrate over to a more comfortable surface to lounge on. You feel the remnants of your grin tickling the corners of your lips and the rapid beating of your heart as you re-read Vernon’s message.

It’s worse, you think, because of how casual this seems. Because Vernon’s texting you like you weren’t some fan in the audience who was accidentally paired with him for the Kiss Cam.

You stare into the dark of your studio, your phone close to your chest. It feels weird. You’ve texted celebrities before. Hell, you could be counted as a celebrity in your own right. You had people (rare) asking you for autographs and pictures. But texting Vernon Chwe? You didn’t know. Something is different.

Vernon: so r u gna leave me on read or…..

You: seems like u have a lot of time on ur hands mr pro athlete

Vernon: nah

You: obv enough time to find the worst possible photo of me

Vernon: that was all mingyu plus its like prime meme material the internet’s alr on it

For a second you panic. Because he can’t be serious.

You: ur lying

Vernon: lmfao obv wouldnt do that to u yet….

You roll your eyes at his text but the corners of your lips betray you, twitching into that stupid silly idiot smile.

You: i block and report u

Vernon: tragic so u comin to the next game or what

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times.

He wants you there?

No, no, no, no, no, no, Y/n. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

To Vernon, you’re just another fan. Another face in the crowd. Just lucky enough to be caught up in the Kiss Cam with him.

You: u think i have enough luck for two game tickets in a row???

Vernon: bold of u to assume i wouldnt send u tickets

You: bold of u to assume i want them

Vernon: guess i am bold then lol

Your breath catches. It’s a joke, obviously, but the way your fingers hesitate over the keyboard, typing something only to backspace and delete every word you’ve written so quickly and forcefully that it actually kind of hurts your thumb.

You decide on something more neutral.

You: wdym

Vernon: ill send u season tickets whatever seat u want

You almost fall out of your couch.

You: wait be so fr rn

Vernon: bro i am

You try to ignore the bro in his message. But otherwise, season tickets? You would have bought season tickets a long time ago, except your schedule tends to change very erratically and you never saw paying upwards of one grand for only being able to attend a handful of games.

You: so am i paying or what

Vernon: on the house

You: lmfao … wait r u srs

Vernon: deadass as a dead rat

You stop. There is no way he’s telling you this right now, apart from the whole dead rat thing. Those season tickets cost at leas tone thousand the last time you checked – mostly because Chaewon begged and begged you to buy one so that you guys could attend whatever game you wanted.

Vernon: lmfao dw players r given four season tickers per season i have 1 left

For some weird reason, your heart flutters at that. He would give you his last season ticket? A girl he met just three days ago?

You’re ready for this too-good-to-be-true dream to come to an end.

But just to test your luck, you send one more text.

You: we’ll see

He doesn’t reply right away. And you’re about to shut your phone off when your phone buzzes with a new notification.

You don’t even need to actually open Instagram to read Vernon’s new text.

Vernon 버논 noted

And somehow, that leaves you smiling like a stupid idiot at your phone for way too long.

For a few days, you don’t bring it up. Neither does Vernon, though he keeps your phone buzzing in the moments you think you’ve finally forgotten about him. You text about completely random things – his god-awful practice schedule (his words, not yours), your last F/W design that you sent off to your assistant only for her to lose the drawing, making you re-draw the design, a weirdly heated debate about whether you should pour the sweet and sour sauce over the sweet and sour pork or if you should dip the pork into the sauce. And all through that, the whole season ticket thing goes unmentioned.

Until one evening, in the middle of your rerun of Hospital Playlist as you cut through a yard of fabric, your phone buzzes against the coffee table counter.

1 message from @/vernonline

Your fingers that are curled through the scissors falter, the metal blade hitching against the suddenly-rumpled fabric.

Vernon: left smth for u at the company ticket booth

You blink.

You: huh?

Vernon: season pass pick it up whenever cant have u blaming ur absence at ticket unavailability lol

You stare at your screen. It makes you mad, just a little bit, how he seems so calm while saying the most heart-fluttering things. Or maybe you’re just severely deprived of male attention or something because as you read the texts again, you feel yourself smiling. Again.

You: u sure about this?

Vernon: too late to take it back now

You: i could be the worst luck ever for your team

Vernon: nah i think ur good luck but we’ll find out

You’re out of reply options. So you just like his last message and slam your phone down on the coffee table, turning to the back of your couch. And you stay there, perfectly still, head buried into the couch cushions, legs tucked into your chest, and eyes squeezed shut as you suck in a breath and then sigh it out aggressively.

You can’t think straight.

You side-eye your half-cut fabric laying out on the coffee table. Usually, you never bring back work from your studio. It’s good, mostly. You get to have separate spaces for work and for relaxation – for home. But you had to today. Because Yerin came into the studio moaning and groaning about how the company wouldn’t get off of her ass about your first five designs coming into fruition before the end of this week. So, you brought your work back home, prepared to the moon and back to pull an all-nighter to finish this design. Or, you thought.

Because, as you sit up, cheek resting against the couch cushions, you realize something. And it comes almost as an epiphany to you.

Vernon Chwe has materialized in your life as analogous as playing with a big roaring fire.

And, as of right now, you felt no pain in sticking your hand into the flame.

Which is why you increasingly start to find yourself riding the jam-packed subway at 6:00 pm to attend his games – at least the ones you could – under the excuse that you enjoyed baseball and what kind of fan would you be if you let the season pass go to waste?

It’s warmer today, at least compared to the last game you attended. It’s a home game this time – Diamonds’ home turf. Everywhere you turn, you’re met with blue and pink, fans with player jerseys, and dangling diamond keychains designed by the team.

You slip into your regular seat by the start of the bottom half of the second inning. The plan was to get there by the start of the game, but you had some runway design stuff to go over with the venue company about installing more overhead lights.

Your phone vibrates between the 7th and 8th inning.

You don’t even need to check to see who it is, based on the rather unnerving stare you were receiving every so often from the dugout.

Vernon: ur here

You: whos to say

Vernon: i can literally see u tf

You glance up at that. You’re seated above the other team’s dugout, at a side angle from the Diamond’s dugout, where everyone is sitting right now. You squint to make out the faces of everyone under the shadow of the dugout.

A quiet scoff escapes your lips. There is no way he can see you.

You: liar liar pants on fiar

Vernon: thats sum kindergarten shit

You: we listen n we dont judge eyes on the game mr pro baseballer

Vernon: cant ur too distracting

If you aren’t in public, you would have screeched at that text. Instead, you almost drop your phone in the hurry to cover up your bright screen, as if anyone would have cared enough to take a risky peek at your phone screen.

When you peek at your phone again, Vernon has sent a flurry of crying and skull emojis, as well as a very blurry photo of you taken from, apparently, his place in the dugout.

You can feel a flush that is definitely not from the beer creep up your neck.

You: i am not afraid to block

Vernon: yeah yeah ok wtv

You: do my threats not seem real to u

Vernon: whats ur go to order for chi-maek??

Your brows raise. Chi-maek? Really? In the middle of the game? As you type out your response, you hear the distinct whistle of the ump, calling to start the 8th inning.

You: spicy glaze and whiskey highball

The scoreboard reads 7 to 4, the Diamonds winning for now. You hum as cheers from your side go up as Dokyeom goes up to pitch, a bright smile on his face as he stretches his wrists.

Your phone buzzes.

You check it a little too quick.

Vernon: whiskey highball is NOT beer but ok solid order but sadly wrong :(

You: girl what

Vernon: honey garlic w cass draft

You actually let out a laugh at that, attracting the attention of literally everyone around you because who the fuck laughs in the middle of a baseball game. Especially if you’re sitting in the VIP seats above the dugout. But you can’t seem to tear yourself away from your phone.

You: ur like those basic white girls on pinterest

Vernon: idekwtm

You: what?

Vernon: i dont even know what that means basic is undefeated

You: ok whatever u say

Vernon: n e ways u wanna test the theory after the game?

Your heart stops for a second. It’s short. Almost a nonexistent murmur of excitement that shoots through you. But it’s enough for you to freeze, swallowing down the sudden ball in your throat.

You: not a theory a fact

Vernon: same thing

You: was that an invitation?

Vernon: idk only if it worked?

You should say no.

That should be the right thing to do. Because who in the right mind goes out for chi-maek after a baseball game with a high-profile baseball player? It’s dangerous. It has the probability of being as big of a PR scare as that one time paparazzi leaked photos of you and your actor sneaky link slash hook up slash friend with a lot of benefits hand-in-hand as you left the hotel he was staying at after a particularly good photoshoot. That ended as fast as it started.

So why are you typing out this response like your life depends on it?

You: i dont approve of ur draft choice

Vernon: ill adapt

Vernon: wanna meet me at the player entrance?

You: do i like sneak in or smth??

Vernon: bruh no ill let the staff know be out 20 min after the end of the game promise

You like his promise before clicking your phone off, head dizzy, brain hurting as you dumbly look on as the teams switch offense and defense. You watch as Dokyeom hands out strikes like he’s giving out menus at a restaurant and then you watch again as Dino, Joshua, and Vernon round bases, followed by Minghao and Mingyu after he steals two bases.

Your phone is not forgotten on the table in front of you.

Until it buzzes as the game winds down.

You glance at the screen, barely registering the screams around you or the score, heart already beating just a little too fast for something as simple as a text.

Vernon: 20 min player entrance don’t ditch lmao

A huff of amusement leaves you before you can help it. You lift your phone again, thumbs tapping against the glass as the crowd around you erupts into louder cheers.

You: yeah yeah dont keep me waiting

A minute passes.

No response.

It’s funny because you expect a response.

But it’s typical, especially during a game.

So you roll your eyes, dropping your phone back into your lap, pretending to no one that your pulse hasn’t picked up, that your heart wasn’t racing, that the anticipation sitting low in your stomach doesn’t mean anything, and the way your fingers turn cold isn’t an indicator of the sudden rush of adrenaline.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

The Diamonds are winning. And that should be enough to distract you. It should be easy to stay focused on the game – it’s the 9th inning for fucks sake. The energy is electric as the team nears almost a 12 point gap between them and the Kia Tigers. It courses through the stadium – through the baseball souls of everyone except for you, it feels like. It’s the kind that makes people jump out of their seats, waving banners and jerseys, calling out players’ names like they’ve worshiped them their whole lives.

You should be caught up in it.

But instead, all you can think about is him.

All you can think about is him – the way he laughed on the call last night, asking if you were coming to the game today, lower than usual, quieter, laced with something unreadable and tired when he asked you so, you coming to the game tomorrow?

You hadn’t planned on listening.

Not really, anyways.

You had deadlines to meet and models to contract for the runway show and fabrics to sew with your team in the studio.

And yet, here you are.

The last out is made and the crowd goes wild, jumping in their seats as they sing the team song, voices booming from every stacked corner of the stadium.

You watch as Vernon jogs off the field with the rest of his teammates after a bow. A small, tiny part of you wonders if he’s going to look in your direction. He doesn’t, obviously. Doesn’t glance up at the stands or cranes his neck at the last minute to look for you.

You shouldn’t go.

You should leave. Now. While the stadium is still buzzing with the post-game high, while it’s easy to slip away unnoticed, while you can take back a decision that cannot be taken back after it’s made.

But you find yourself waiting near the players’ entrance, twenty minutes later – waiting for him.

You’re debating so hard with yourself that you almost jump out of your skin when the door to the players’ entrance suddenly opens, washing the tunnel with a soft yellow light and the chatter of voices mingling in with the steady sound of water and music.

Head raised now, you see Vernon step out into the tunnel, duffel slung over his shoulder, posture loose, and mid-laughter at something you think Seungkwan said from inside of the locker rooms.

God, he looks good.

He’s not in his uniform anymore – no crisp jersey, no fitted baseball pants, no remnants of the game that just ended, no dirt stains. Instead, he’s wearing a slightly oversized blue sweater, the bold Kenzo Paris lettering stretched across his chest, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his tight forearms. A pair of relaxed-fit black trousers sit low on his hips, leaving a sliver of skin and the monogrammed Calvin Klein logo to show as he closes the metal door.

When his gaze lands on you, he slows, head tilting slightly, almost amused. From under the dim tunnel lights and your position against the wall, you can see the water droplets clinging to his damp hair, curly at the edges.

“You actually showed up,” he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You cross your arms, cocking a brow, trying to disguise the fluttering of your traitorous heart. “You’re two minutes overtime.”

Vernon exhales a laugh, shifting his duffel higher on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, pulling your long sleeve top, “gimme a break,” he laughs, “just finished rounding four bases.”

You click your tongue, but you can’t stop the smile that rises to your face, following him without complaint through the tunnel. “Should’ve finished rounding the last two.”

He actually laughs at that. “C’mon. Let’s get that whiskey highball of yours. See what the hype’s really about.”

And against your better judgement, you follow.

Follow Vernon out of the tunnel and into the open and your fluttering heart.

The stadium is still buzzing as you step outside, although most of the crowd has dispersed into the subway stations. A few stragglers mill around near the gates and the smoking area blows plumes of nicotine smoke from disappointed fans, and the glow of the floodlights cast a long show across the pavement.

You pull your hood over your head, the night wind biting the tips of your ears and your cheeks as the heat of the screams from the game dies down. Staring at the ground, Vernon’s strides are long and unhurried, allowing you to fall into step beside him as the two of you continue down the sidewalk, away from the glowing lights of the stadium. The streets are quieter now, save for the occasional drunken yells of college students toppling out of bars after drinking one too many glasses of beer.

“You played well,” you say, mostly to fill the silence, but also because you feel like if you don’t say something, the rest of the night is going to be hell of a lot more awkward.

“Thanks,” Vernon replies easily, hands shoved in his pockets. “Wasn’t my best game though.” There’s a certain tinge of disappointment in his voice like the expectations are lodged in his chest.

You glance up at him, brows raised. He better be joking. “You literally hit a triple in the fifth inning.”

“Yeah, but I hesitated rounding third,” he mumbles, head bowed now. Looking at him like this, under the streetlights, walking downhill to the restaurants below the stadium hill, he looks more tired. “I should’ve pushed for home. Could’ve done it too.”

You sigh, pushing your hood off of your head to look at him fully. “Could’ve. But reminiscing on it now doesn’t change a thing. You played well.” You smile, nudging him, when you see him start to open his mouth to retort. “Just take the compliment, baseball boy.”

Vernon gives you a look – amused, a little sheepish, and if you squint in the dark, a little grateful. “Sorry. Habit.”

You hum, letting the conversation lull for a beat before clearing your throat. “So… do I get to know where we’re going or are you just leading me to an alleyway and then knifing me?”

Vernon raises a brow. “Dramatic much?”

“I like to keep things interesting.”

He lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just a spot a few blocks away. Good chicken. Okay beer.” A pause. You can physically see his brain whirring, eyes narrowing, steps faltering. “Unless I read something wrong and you wanna back out.” He trails off with an awkward sort of laugh that dangerously makes you want to tease him more.

You roll your eyes at him instead. “Has anyone ever commented on how you dress?”

Vernon blinks. “What?” His brown eyes look stupidly like large orbs under the yellow lights.

You gesture to his pants. “Those are good – nice fit and everything. Dunno where they’re from but I like them. But the sweater?” You scrunch your nose as you do another once-over at the blue Kenzo knit. “Mid, at best. Never liked blue.”

He looks down at himself, then back at you, expression caught between disbelief and amusement. “These pants are yours.”

“Huh?” Your head tilts.

Vernon grins, all teeth, canines sinking into his bottom lip. “They’re from your brand. Bought it last week at the department store.”

You blink.

It takes a second for his words to register and you don’t even realize you’ve stopped until Vernon stops as well to look back.

He glances down at his pants like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You blink down at his pants.

They are yours – or, well, from your design. The small cat embroidered in silver thread is your marking against the black fabric right on the waistline above the pocket. It’s from three seasons ago, from a collection even you can barely remember. It was a small, limited run – maybe fifty or so copies of all of the clothes manufactured before you had to stop production to release your S/S collection in time to work on your design for the summer red carpets. You had hoped – and still hope – to continue it, especially because it was your first comfort clothing and loungewear line – nothing flashy, nothing widely publicized. The kind of piece that only a handful of people would own, let alone remember.

But here it is. On him.

That shocks you more than the fact that the line is still in stores.

You open your mouth, then close it again, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Vernon watches your reaction, his expression calm, unreadable, with a hint of a smile playing at his lips – like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you right now. Like buying those pants, he knew, would mean more to you than to him. And you swear you hear something like cute whispered from his parted lips…

But that would be ridiculous. Right? Right?

You clear your throat, forcing a scoff, pulling your hood back up over your head before he can see the blush. “Huh,” you mumble, side-eyeing him, “Guess you have some taste.”

Vernon huffs a quiet laugh, letting you catch up to him. “Guess so.”

Your heart beats a little faster than it should when you force out the next words. “Still think the blue is not your color.”

“You comin’ for my sweater?”

“I’m coming for all of your sweaters.

“Oh shut up,” he laughs. And in a second, his hand is around your wrist, warm – calloused, yes – but warm, pulling you into a side alleyway and through the door of the first shop.

It’s frustrating how hard you have to try and force your heart to stop beating at 200 beats per minute.

When you duck under the very low door frame, you’re met with dim lighting, some kind of old indie rock music playing on a record player, and a flickering old-style TY in the corner playing a muted baseball game from three seasons ago.

It’s the kind of place that only accepts cash and has their menus laminated but still gently-used, marked with changes in price and menu changes. The kind of place that offers free side menus to the locals and the owner’s favorite customers.

It suits him. Vernon Chwe.

He walks in like he’s been here a hundred other times – nods at the owner (a graying man who’s all smiles and hearty chuckles, giving Vernon a gentle pat on the back, congratulating him on the win as he walks past), bows his head when someone calls his name from across the room and waves, and slides into a booth with the ease of a regular after throwing his bags under the table, into the basket.

You stare at him from the entranceway.

“You comin’?” His voice is low, easy, barely lifting over the background hum of the restaurant.

You look at him, feet moving before you realize it. He grins up at you as you slide in on the other side. You hesitate for a fraction, though, before you drop your own bag into the basket.

You don’t know why.

Maybe it’s the surrealness of it – sitting across from Vernon Chwe, number twelve, professional athlete, rookie MVP his first season, MIP last season, fan-favorite, objectively hot man. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not entirely sure what this is. What it’s supposed to be.

You met him officially barely four weeks ago. But you’ve known of him for years, ever since Chaewon and Hyunjin, your brother, brought you to the Diamonds’ game six seasons ago. It’s impossible not to know him if you watch even a little baseball – a name that’s followed since his rookie season, a highlight reel you’ve watched more times than you would ever admit. The player that makes other fans curse out loud when he crushes them with a walk-off double during the season.

And yet, you’re sitting here. Across from him. Like you’ve known him your entire life.

And even though you’ve sat in front of celebrities – even Cha Eunwoo for God’s sake – nothing compares to this. The rush of nerves you feel as Vernon grins, drumming against the table with his fingers, making you tuck your hair behind your ears like some high schooler.

“You’re staring,” Vernon says, amused.

You blink, shaking yourself out of it. It seems like you have to do that a lot when you’re around Vernon. “I am not.”

“You totally are.”

You huff, pushing the laminated menu in his hand so you can read it upside-down. You glance up at him from under your lashes. “So,” you hum, “you bring all your post-game dates here?”

He scoffs, brushing through his hair again, strands falling messily over his forehead. “Nah. Exclusive guest list only,” he jokes, leaning forward just a bit.

You try to ignore the fact that he doesn’t correct you on date.

“Ah,” you hum, nodding. “So I should feel honored?”

“Infinitely.”

You try to ignore the way his voice dips just ever so slightly when he says it. Try to ignore the way his eyes flicker down at your hands on the table. The way they flicker back up to your face, a little lower than your eyes, before he smiles and glances away.

“You wanna test your theory?” he asks, gesturing for a server.

You hum, “Dunno. Are you paying?”

Vernon sighs dramatically, letting the menu flop onto the table, shrugging. “Guess I have to.”

“Oh, are you complaining?” you laugh, setting your elbows on the table, placing your chin on your palms, leaning forward.

When Vernon looks back from asking for a server, you take a small itty bitty sense of pride at how his eyes widen just a fraction before he swallows and leans back a little, a shaky grin rising to his lips.

“No, never.”

Before you can respond, the owner swings by, beaming as he sets a small bowl of popcorn between the two of you, small notebook in hand.

“Hey, welcome back Vernon.”

Vernon lets him pat his back and ruffle his hair. “Glad to be back, Mr. Cho.”

The owner glances at you. And then back at Vernon. “The usual?”

Now Vernon glances at you before he nods. “Yeah. But she wants spicy glaze and a whiskey highball.” He makes a face at you – nose scrunched and mouth turned down – at your order.

The owner hums, shooting you an approving look. “Good taste. But he’ll probably be adamant about changing your mind.” He claps Vernon on the shoulder, grinning. “Says our honey garlic’s the best in the city.”

You raise a brow. “So I’ve heard.”

Vernon just shrugs, all casual as he leans back. “Basic’s undefeated.”

The owner chuckles as he pockets his notebooks and grabs the menu off of the table. “Well, I’ll let Vernon entertain and charm the shit out of you.”

And then he’s gone.

Which leaves you and Vernon alone. Again. Alone against the low murmur of the bar, filled with the steady hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from a table of five in the back. It’s lowkey. It’s homey. And sitting across from Vernon, it makes your pulse thrum in your wrist.

“You always come here after a game?” you ask, reaching for a popcorn.

“Not always,” he replies, leaning back in the booth. “But sometimes. It’s lowkey. Quiet.”

It is. No one’s sneaking pictures. No one’s gawking, asking for signatures, coming up mid-meal, staying overtime just to walk out with him. It’s the kind of place where people mind their own business. The kind where even the most famous of celebrities can feel a little bit at ease.

When the drinks arrive, you swirl the ice before taking a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol sting a road down our throat. You clear your throat.

“You usually invite girls you’ve only met a few times out for chi-maek?”

Vernon exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You think you’re just some girl?”

Something about the way he says it makes your fingers tighten so so so impossibly tight around your glass.

“Well,” you force an easy grin, lifting your head to meet his eyes, only to find that he’s been staring at you this entire time, “I guess I was your Kiss Cam partner,” you whisper out the last part. As if saying it quieter will feel more like a wish. Like it would turn it into a dream you can relive.

His lips twitch slightly. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Kiss Cam partner.”

You hum around your drink. “Yeah and you barely know me.”

He just looks at you, unreadable, especially under this dark lighting. “You’d be surprised.”

And then the food comes before you can ask him what the hell that means, the scent of crispy fried chicken, coated in glistening glazes filling the air between you two as Mr. Cho sets the plates down with a satisfied grunt. He throws a couple more napkins down before walking off, leaving you and Vernon with two loaded guns: two platters of plates and whatever the fuck he just said five seconds ago.

You should let it go. Because maybe it’s not that deep, you know? Something he just said to tease you.

But instead, you blurt out, “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

Vernon blinks at you, momentarily caught off guard. Then, with a shrug, he reaches for a piece of chicken, biting off a piece before answering, “You know. I pay attention.”

“To what?”

“To you,” he says, “Duh.” He says it so simply, so effortlessly, that it takes you a split second to even process the words and decode it inside your brain. He doesn’t even sound embarrassed, doesn’t backtrack, take it back, or try to explain himself. It just hangs. It hangs as he reaches for his drink, as he takes a sip, and as he licks a stray drop off of his lips (which is hotter than you would like to admit).

“Okay, that’s —” you pause, suddenly unsure of what you were even going to say.

Vernon smirks, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “What? Am I wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing away the sudden creeping of blush red to your face. “No, I just –” you shake your head, reaching for a spicy glaze drumstick to distract yourself. “Whatever,” you huff, “We’re not doing this.”

Vernon huffs a laugh but doesn’t push. Instead, he swirls his draft beer and tilts his head, gulping down the liquid.

And the conversation shifts into something easier – safer.

“You still thinking about doing those bomber jackets?” he asks, tearing a piece of chicken in half with his fingers.

You tilt your head, now intrigued. “You remember that?”

Vernon grins. “Sounded cool.”

“Huh.” You sip your drink. And even though you say to not read too much into it, you know you will. Later. When you’re at home, half-way through your shower. “Yeah. Maybe for the spring-summer collection.”

“You gonna make one for me?”

You snort. “I dunno, Chwe, think you can pull one off?”

“Think I’d look good in anything yours,” he says. Like it’s a known fact. Yours. Anything yours. It tickles the wrong set of nerves in our brain. He’s not even trying to be smooth. Just stating it like he’s commenting on the damn weather.

And you?

Well.

You weren’t expecting that.

You almost drop your drumstick, stomach flipping before you can even stop it. You open your mouth, ready to fire back some witty response until your eyes land on his pants. Again.

It seems like you repeat a lot of what you do when you’re with Vernon.

You point at his pants. “How do you even have those?”

Vernon follows your gaze, then glances back up at you, a little confused, brows furrowed. “Huh? I bought them. Like a normal person?”

“Bought them,” you parrot.

“Yeah? Why?”

You shake your head, looking down at your plate of finished bones and unfinished chicken. “Just–” you let out a small laugh, “That line was from like three seasons ago. I didn’t even know they still had it in stores. Or– or that people still bought it – wanted it, you know?”

It’s almost nostalgic, the way you slowly smile at the thought, wiping off your fingers with a wet tissue. You feel the alcohol flush coming on from your neck, traveling up and up to the tops of your cheeks. When you look back up at Vernon, he’s staring at you, something hazy in his eyes, leaning back against the booth, head tilted just a little bit with twitching lip corners. His drink is barely half-way finished.

The quiet that lingers between you two as you lean back, exhaling as you check your phone for the time isn’t awkward. It’s lighter, easy. Almost too easy. Like the end of the night was scripted to be exactly this – two finished glasses of highball, one half-way finished glass of draft beer, and two plates of stacked chicken bones. And Vernon. Especially Vernon.

“You done?” he asks, voice soft but carrying through to you.

You don’t realize how much you’ve drunk until it hits you now, as the conversation lulls and the way Vernon looks at you makes you blush red hot.

“Mhm,” you mumble, head lolling back against the wooden backrest of the booth.

Vernon laughs at that, sliding out, grabbing all three of your guys’ bags, slinging them over his shoulder. When he stands, the dim overhead light casting a shadow down his body, you look up, head craning to see his face.

It’s unfair, really. To look up, half-drunk, to see Vernon’s face. It takes everything in you not to grin deliriously, as if he’s some walking meal, waiting to be devoured. He looks less tired than he did when he first stepped out of the locker room. Or maybe you’re telling yourself that, trying to convince yourself that you’ve impacted Vernon Chwe’s life in positive ways. If not for a long time, then at least for a while. For the hour and a half it took for you to walk down the hill and eat your chicken.

He outstretches a hand to you.

You instead grab the table edge, hauling yourself up.

If you grabbed his hand, you’re afraid you would never let go.

If Vernon thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t comment on it, instead leading you out the door of the restaurant, your bag in his hand, warmth lingering by your back.

The restaurant door swings shut behind you and the night air is crisp against your skin, a welcome contrast to the blazing warmth in your cheeks. You stretch your arms above your head, exhaling slowly, slowly, and beside you, Vernon shoves his hands into his pockets as the two of you start walking down the sloping sidewalk.

Seoul feels different at this hour. It’s calmer, the usual chaos of honking horns, snail-like traffic, and roar of car engines almost silent under the round moon overhead. A streetlight flickers as you pass under it, dimming – if only for a second – the light around you and Vernon, who had almost naturally slipped over to your left side, walking along the road-side of the pavement.

“I’ll take the subway,” you say, breaking the quiet, more to yourself than anything. As if saying something out loud will break the tension you feel. “Should be fine.”

Vernon makes a noise that can only be described as a scoff. “You’re not taking the subway.”

You glance at him, almost blurting out something else. Instead, you settle on, “Why not?”

“It’s late,” he replies simply, still looking ahead. “You should take the bus.”

You snort. “How is the bus any better?”

“It’s above ground.”

“Oh, wow, really?” You deadpan.

He gives you a look, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reshoulders your bag and his duffle. You want to reach out and take your bag off his shoulder, but you’re afraid it might break whatever you have going on right now.

“You know what I mean,” he says.

You do. But you also know that he probably doesn’t see the deeper meaning in his words. At least, not like you do.

“I can handle myself,” you say, lifting a fist into the air (though rather slowly). “I’m scrappy.”

Vernon looks wholly unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

“You doubt me?”

“Feel like you’d trip over air or something.”

You gasp, “No, I would not!”

“Really?”

You can’t answer that because at that moment, your foot catches on an uneven part of the pavement (not air!) and you stumble forward. That seems to break you out of your tipsy haze, your eyes widening a fraction and you think you’re about to fall face first onto the brick pavement when, all of a sudden, a firm arm is around your waist before you can even register that you’re falling. The grip is firm, strong, steady, and you can feel the warmth of the palm through your hoodie.

You glance up.

And you freeze.

“So scrappy,” he murmurs, shaking his head with a little smile that plays on his lips that should be illegal to look upon if you wanted your heart from further falling.

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but whatever you’re about to say dies on your tongue. The way he looks at you – brows slightly raised, lips just barely curved, the streetlight hitting his nose, cheekbones, jaw – sends something off-kilter, almost killing, in your chest. He’s too close (or maybe not close enough), and for the (not) first time tonight, you feel yourself at an actual loss for words.

What are you even supposed to say? Thanks for catching me? Or would hey, lean down so I can kiss you silly lol! work better in this case? Or maybe a small murmured haha cool work better?

The streetlight flickers above you again, like it’s counting down your blessings of time before Vernon actually lets go or your brain goes haywire and you actually do pull him in for a drunken kiss in a late-night stupor.

“Thanks,” you mumble, voice coming out a little weaker than you’d like.

Vernon rights you. “Don’t drink too much.” It comes out a little scolding but still light.

“S fine,” you say, “ ‘S not like I’m a pro baseball player or anything.”

Vernon exhales a quiet laugh, but his grip lingers on your waist a fraction of a second longer before he lets go. “Still. Can’t have you passin’ out drunk on me.”

You clear your throat, forcing your feet to move again. The bus stop is just up ahead, and with every step, you feel the weight of his presence beside you, the ghost of his lingering touch against your waist.

The short walk down to the bus stop is quiet. Like both of you don’t really know what to say or even if you did, how to say it. As you slow to a stop, you look down at your feet – the way your ragged jeans drag just slightly across the top of your shoes and the way your trousers let the bright Nike logo on Vernon’s stand out.

Vernon rocks back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks at you and then far away, like he wants to say something.

You don’t push, instead gently taking your bag from his shoulder, slipping your arms through it.

Suddenly, he clears his throat, looking at the bus stop’s LED sign. “Come to the next game,” he says, casual, like it’s not a big deal.

You blink at him. “What?”

“You have the season pass,” he continues, looking out towards the dark road like this is a passing thought to him. Like he doesn’t know that to you, it’s him asking to see you again – an opportunity for you to see him again. And a small (big) part of your heart wonders if he’ll ask you to chicken and beer like tonight.

Something in your stomach flips.

And it’s definitely not the beer.

You hesitate, just for a second.

Then, finally, you nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

Vernon nods too, like he’s satisfied with your answer, like he expected you to say yes. Like he would have kept asking until you did.

Vernon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking toward the road where your bus is approaching in the distance, the headlights bright in the dark and the numbers bold against the windshield. His hands are still in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, but there’s something unreadable in his expression—like he’s about to say something else but decides against it.

Instead, he nods, the ghost of a pleased smile playing at his lips. “See you at the game.”

For a second you think he’s going to do something. In your drunken stupor, you hope that he’ll lean down, hug you, hold you, kiss you.

But then he turns to leave.

And for some reason – some weird, messed up, fucked up reason – you don’t think. You just move.

And before he can take one more step, you reach out, fingers finding place around his wrist, wrapped in sports tape. It has him startling, jolting at the sudden contact, turning to face you with widened eyes. Then, before your brain can catch up to your body, you close the space between you, fingers falling from his wrist so that your arms can loop around his built waist. Your cheek finds brief comfort against his chest, catching the faint scent of his cologne – or shampoo or aftershave – vanilla and a little floral and musk.

Vernon stills. Freezes. Stops.

For a second, he doesn’t react at all. Caught off guard, shocked, surprised, whatever the fuck his unreadable brain is feeling. And then, slowly, to match your arms, his arms come up, hands settling tentatively – very tentatively – against your back. They’re big. Warm. Solid as they gently press you just the merest inch closer to him as he exhales. His breaths are quiet, like maybe he’s been holding his breath this whole time and letting it go in multiple quiet sighs. His chin finds the top of your head, gently resting. Like he’s scared to hold you any tighter.

So you let him keep his distance.

“Thanks for tonight,” you murmur against the fabric of his sweater.

You don’t tell him that you left a project unfinished to come meet him. Or that you needed to get back to your studio two hours ago.

Instead, you pull back. Because if Vernon is scared of holding you tighter, you’re scared that if you hold him any longer, you won’t let go.

And then his response comes, quieter than before.

“Anytime.”

You step away, at arm’s distance now. You can still feel the lingering warmth where his hands met your back. He looks at you for a beat longer, eyes dark as almonds under the streetlights, mouth slightly parted like there’s something else he wants to say.

But then the glowing headlights of your bus roll to a stop beside you, glowing bold N1128 blinking against the windshield. And the moment dissolves into the rumble of the engine and the hiss of the doors opening.

You step down off of the curb, your fingers curling at your sides.

You give him a smile.

“I’ll see you.”

Vernon nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Yeah. See you.”

And he stands there, still, eyes training ambiguously between you and the rest of the darkened road as you climb into the bus, the card scanner beeping as you press your phone against the reader. And he stands there, still, as you slide into a seat by the window, bag in your lap, as you watch him, standing, as the bus rolls away. And now you watch as he disappears down the street, your heart beating a little too fast, a little too loud, and a little too much in your chest.

Your forehead meets the chilled glass of the bus window, warm breath hot against your hand that supports your chin. Your phone is gripped tight in your hand and the smooth rumble of the bus and the gentle music playing inside does nothing to soothe your thoughts.

You swallow, eyes squeezing shut as you try to push out the way Vernon’s chin met the top of your head; the way his hands felt splayed across your back; the way his breath was light against your hair; the way he caught you as he fell.

This is wrong.

You repeat it like a mantra inside your alcohol-thickened skull. Your muddled brain. Your disastrous, highschool crush-reverted brain.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

And wrong for all the right reasons.

But a pang of selfishness courses through you when you find yourself asking your own brain why this is wrong. Can’t a girl have a crush? Can’t a girl dream? Is it because he’s high profile? An up-and-coming star? All-rounder? Because you’re different? Infinitely?

Or because at the end of the day, you feel like he’ll never see you the same way?

Your forehead bangs against the glass as bone and skin meet the hard surface again.

And then your phone vibrates.

You glance down at your illuminated screen. And you can almost scoff – in amusement and ridiculousness.

Vernon 버논 text me back when u get home safe thx 4 tonight needed it

You squeeze your eyes shut again.

He really needed to stop texting you like this.

: ̗̀➛ 🇰🇮🇸🇸 ❜🇪🇷 🇺🇵 @astrobebba ; @ayupfrogg ; @steamyjaehyun @chwenott ; @toplinehyunjin ; @syluslittlecrows

#seventeen #vernon #vernon chwe #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen fic #vernon x reader #vernon smut #vernon fluff #seventeen baseball! au #baseball player!vernon #kiss er up!!#seventeen fics #svt fic #svt x reader #why am i lowkey obsessed with my own writing and rereading stuff #gia's long fics

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babylipsbaby · 3 months ago

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♡ a modern girls guide to being a 2010s it girl: issue #03 ♡

Winter Outfit Staples

Cozy Sweaters

Off-the-shoulder Long Sleave Tops

Ripped Jeans with Patches or Tights

Shorts or Skirts with Tights

Puffer Jackets with Fur

Branded Zip-up Jackets

Uggs or Bearpaws

Tall Boots or Riding Boots

Slouched Beanies

Boot Socks or Leg Warmers

Infinity Scarves

Use #mgg2010 to find every issue!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Previous Issue: Beauty Youtubers to Binge Watch: Part 02

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Next Issue: Snow Day Activities

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goodeapple · 4 months ago

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blue snowflakes (modern hotd, xmas edition ... daddy!aemond x oc)

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC) but there's no overt incest in this one, you're welcome, normies

warnings : MDNI. ngl, this one is fluffy and tender as FUCK (too much christmas cheer me thinks). however, unprotected sex, sexual use of the word "daddy", Aemond's usual breeding kink, and way too many bad dad jokes lie ahead.

word count : 6,000+

note : merry christmas and happy holidays to all you lovely people. ty for such an amazing year. here's a little thank you from me to you. xx

7:10. He finishes up a report that isn't expected until the first, the tap of his fingers anxiously loud on the keyboard. 7:15. He stokes the wood in the fireplace, warming his hands in front of the flames, his leg bouncing with restless energy. 7:28. He drains his whiskey glass and the burn licks down his throat before raging into his belly.

They should be here by now. Aemond does not freak out. That's not who he is- the grip he holds on his emotions never waivers. But as the time ticks and tocks on and he remains alone in his flat, his nerves start to sizzle until they singe.

At 7:48, a frenzied knock on the door has Aemond moving across the floor in four long strides.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, the roads were God awful, took us an hour to get down Main." Ysilla stands shivering as he rips it open. She stomps her Uggs for almost dramatic effect, the ice sticking to the boots melting in the warmth of the hallway. Aemond releases a slow and steady breath, the tight fist of anxiety in his chest loosening. The little thing holding strong to Ysilla's gloved hand is a marshmallow puff of bubblegum pink goosefeather down, her jacket done up to her muff covered ears.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Dany shrieks, uncaring of the obvious chill that polishes the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose into a cherry red glow. She releases her mother's hand, dashing forward before almost immediately tumbling over her own feet and eating it in the foyer.

Aemond catches his daughter without blinking, hauling her onto his hip and pressing a strong kiss into her temple. "Hello, my little dragon." A piece of him notches into place and suddenly, his eyes are brighter and his posture less stiff, his head clear and heart beating fonder. His beautiful Daenerys.

He gestures Ysilla in and she nods her thanks, unravelling her spun scarf from her neck and toeing off her soaked shoes. Her own cheeks are burnt from the cold, her fine, fawn skin accepting the rosiness like an expensive blush.

"You drove?" He asks his ex, his tone sharper than he wishes but he still means it. It's fucking gnarly outside and she decided tonight of all nights was the one to take a joyride?

Ysilla rolls her eyes, moving down the hall to the front room, speaking to him over her shoulder. "Yes, Aemond, we drove. I know how to do that."

He thought he fucked that attitude out of her a long time ago, but they haven't been together in awhile. Things change.

"Where the hell is Erryk?" He sets Dany onto her feet, half listening and humming as his daughter rattles off every thought that pops into her head, leaving behind her a trail of winter wear she peels off that is every color of the pastel rainbow.

Ysilla sniffs, her eyes roaming critically over his decorations. His assistant picked them out, and it's like she can smell it.

"It's Christmas, Aemond, I gave him the week off."

Aemond doesn't growl but it's quite close. "I don't pay him to take a week off, Ysilla, I pay him to make sure my girls get to where they need to be safely."

The glare she pins him with is colder than the wind howling outside. Aemond winces. He knows better than to let that shit slip. Ysilla will take a chunk out of him for saying things like that in front of Daenerys. It gives her false hope that Mummy and Daddy are getting back together, Aemond. She'd said. That had fucking stung. That was right after they separated, the echo of her loss (in their bed, in their flat, in his life) still disorienting him. His days blurred into one long line of droll goings until he at last got to see Dany again.

"What's done is done, Aemond. I apologized for being late. Now drop it."

She uses her mum tone and it's effective as all hell. Aemond bites his tongue and waves his metaphorical white flag, rubbing at the back of his neck briskly. Ysilla exhales deeply and lets the defensive line of her shoulders drop. She rummages through her bag, a Birkin he bought her for their first anniversary, and pulls out a long white envelope.

"She wrote a note to Santa that neither you or I are to read, alright? We're supposed to leave it by the fireplace, next to Santa's cookies, and not peek. Right, Dany love?" Ysilla recites, tossing the sealed note onto the kitchen counter. Dany nods, bobblehead like, and smiles her big missmatched grin, baby teeth missing like blacked out windows in a building. Aemond chuckles, nodding seriously when his daughter shoots him a barbed look.

"Daddy, it's important! We can't forget, okay?!"

"Of course, Princess, don't fret. Daddy will make sure all goes well." Aemond ducks down to lock gazes with his daughter, wanting to ensure that she knows her feelings are heard. Ysilla laughs, so softly he almost misses it. She claps her hands once and father and daughter's eyes lock onto her intently.

"Okay my love, are you all set? You have Frostfire and your letter is safe. Your Angelina Ballerina jammies are in your pack and so is blankie. Are we missing anything?" Ysilla picks at nonexistent lint at the cuff of her cashmere sweater, her fingers twitching along the fine fabric. Aemond gets it- this part is the worst, without fail.

"Mumma, stay." Dany whispers, moving forward to clutch at Ysilla's sleeve with tiny, pleading fingers. His ex sighs and the sound rattles from her throat as it moves past the dense ball of emotion there.

"Baby girl, come now, I'll see you next week. We'll go to Nana and Grandpa's and ring in the new year together. All of your cousins will be there too. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Dany keeps quiet, her chin drooping down to her chest, her midnight sprigs of bouncing curls curtaining her face from her parents. Ysilla settles on her knees, shrinking down in order to keep her daughter's focus.

"And you're spending Christmas with Daddy. And Auntie Helaena told me she'll be here with you tomorrow. And so will- oh rūs, don't cry, it's okay." She coos, swiping away her daughter's tears with gentle thumbs.

Aemond swallows thickly, squatting behind Dany and shrugging her out of her Bluey backpack. He bought it for her last month, going against the agreement he'd made with Silla to not buy her any presents so close to the holiday but shit, he couldn't help himself. She's his only baby- and it's not like he's expecting to have another with anyone any time soon.

Dany sniffles, her voice gentler than a baby bird's chirp. "But but Mummy, you'll be alone."

Between Ysilla's eyebrows crease and she blinks rapidly, the whites of her eyes illuminating with tears. Aemond wants to reach out, squeeze her hand, her knee, cup her cheek… but he doesn't do any of that. He isn't allowed to anymore.

"I'll be okay, sweet pea. Mummy promises." Ysilla presses their foreheads together, dusting butterfly kisses all over her girl's face. Within seconds, Dany's weeping turns to giggles, to full belly laughter after Ysilla starts to press obnoxious wet smooches anywhere she can reach. The sunshine smile that bursts over Ysilla's face steals Aemond's breath away.

"Bye baby."

"Bye baby." Dany parrots back, smothering herself into her mother's neck, her tiny arms lassoing around her tightly. Ysilla squeezes her back just as fiercely, refusing to be the first to break away. Dany finally relents, fists rubbing at her eyes, before shuffling to the couch to sit. Ysilla's legs shake as she stands and Aemond ghosts a hand over the small of her back in a quiet comfort.

The parents take their cue to give their daughter some space and start to work their way out of the room.

"You know I don't mind if you stay. Not going to be doing much but lounging around and eating too much sugary shit. You can have your old bedroom back. I'll even clear out a drawer for you." He can be funny when he wants to be, all earlier unpleasantries forgiven and forgotten. Ysilla lets him lift her spirits, her wobbly grin the best Christmas gift he could ask for.

"The sock drawer was never the issue, Aem… it was the hair care drawer." He snorts as she giggles, tickled pink by her own joke. They reach the front door and he imagines the feeling he gets here is similar to greeting the edge of the plank.

"Anyways, I have a hot date with a bubble bath and a bottle of Myrish rum- I can't cancel that again." It's not the best excuse, especially because her eyes are still glassy with emotion, but Aemond won't take a mile from his given inch.

Ysilla turns to face him after throwing one last look down the hall. An eyelash has drifted to freckle her cheekbone, the bat of her lashes no doubt stirring it loose and Aemond doesn't think before he cradles her cheek, his thumb sweeping it away. He drops his hand as quickly as he'd raised it, the warmth flowing from her skin too enticing to trust himself with.

She hesitates then, for a moment, before tiptoeing up and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. She braces her palm on the curve of his bicep and she squeezes at the muscle, and he presses into her as close as she'll allow. Her voice is softer than snowfall at his ear. "Merry Christmas, Aemond."

He turns his head just so, and he brushes his lips at her temple, the same way he'd greeted Dany. His words from before echo like the groaning ghost of Christmas past. His girls. "Merry Christmas, Sill."

He holds the door for her, watching her walk out of his life yet again and definitely doesn't get an eyeful of her ass as she goes.

He shuts and bolts it, and how pathetic is it that he has to dig his nails into the doorframe to stop from chasing after her and giving his best Love, Actually airport reunion kiss in the elevator. He thumps his forehead against the wood. He wonders if he'll stop loving her sometime soon, because three years apart has done fuck all for healing his broken heart and it sucks. Aemond stops feeling sorry for himself long enough to look back into the flat. Dany stands alone at the end of the hallway, Frostfire, her ratty stuffed dragon she's had since birth, clutched by the wing in her fist and swinging by her side. Her giant ice blue eyes pierce through him, and the sad small frown on her lips matches his. God, this never gets any easier.

"Come on, baby girl." His daughter tucks her hand into his as he leads them to the sterling white marble kitchen.

He makes it good, special he hopes. They press shapes into the sugar cookie dough, and then frost the somewhat recognizable snowflakes once they've baked and cooled. He makes her cocoa, begrudgingly adding more marshmallows after being suckered by her pouting face, but he doesn't truly mind. There's not one memory he has of doing any of this with his dad, and he'll be damned if Daenerys ever thinks for even one moment that he wouldn't want to be anywhere rather than right here, with her. He'd give her a cereal bowl of marshmallows if he didn't know that she'd puke them back up after her sugar rush would fizzle out.

They crash onto the couch eventually, the sun long since set, the view from this high up making all of the far and distant lights twinkle like gleaming stars.

They're watching a movie, the one with the bratty kid who gets left behind by his family when they leave for Paris. It makes Aemond's mind hit the snooze button but Dany giggles every time one of the Wet Bandits gets hurt, so he relents and just enjoys having her here with him.

A tepid knock at the door is nearly lost to him, a particularly gusty wind shaking the triple pane windows something awful, but it sounds again and Aemond frowns. He's not expecting anyone, certainly not on Christmas Eve. He wraps the throw blanket tighter around Dany as he leaves their nest, and jogs down the hall.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming." He says, loud enough to quiet the knocker from sounding again. He doesn't bother with the peephole, unlatching the deadbolt and pulling the door open with more than a little annoyance.

Ysilla stands stockstill, doing her best to place first in a snowman lookalike contest, so many white specks of snow littering her dark strands that she nearly matches Aemond's icy coloring.

"I tried, there's no way I can drive back home in that. Had to leave my car on the street, snow's too thick to get through."

"Jesus, Sill, you're like a fuckin' ice cube." Aemond all but yanks her inside, wincing at the freezing sting of her skin.

"Want me to call you an Uber?" That's the last fucking thing he wants, but he'd move mountains for her, even if it's in the direction opposite of him.

Ysilla shakes her head in the negative, her teeth chattering so hard that the clinking sounds like it hurts. "I tried- nothing's available. Not even with surge pricing, fuck's sake."

Aemond falls silent, grabbing a towel from the linen closet and pressing it into her trembling hands. She gives him an appreciative look and starts to dry her damp hair.

"Mummy stay?" Tink tink tink, like a bell, Daenerys' voice floats down the hall, her head hanging over the edge of the couch to stare at her parents with a marvelously mischievous smile.

Ysilla glances up at him, apprehension bright in her lavender eyes. He's still so close, he can smell the jasmine misted over her skin. Their sheets used to be soaked in it, a calling card she'd leave him with anytime she had to travel. He misses her so much, it makes his teeth ache, so who is he to question a Christmas miracle?

"Mummy stay." Aemond declares, stepping behind Ysilla to tug her coat off. He's selfish in his chivalry and he lets his thumbs trail down her arms as he undresses her, and he'd pay good money to know if her shiver is from the cold or his touch.

Dany jumps to her feet, bouncing on the couch and screaming at the top of her lungs, "Yay! Mummy stays, Mummy stays!"

Aemond pulls the glass doors shut on the fireplace, watching drowsily as the glowing embers snuff out to a chilly charcoal grey. It's late, close to midnight, time lost somewhere between Elf and The Polar Express. He stands, wincing as his knees crack and pop and goes to sit on the arm of the couch.

Enjoying the quiet, he gazes upon his girls. Wrapped up in each other, Ysilla and Dany are passed out and have been for at least an hour. After he'd gotten some food in Sill, he'd all but tucked the girls in together, listening to Dany happy chitter until she finally knocked out, sprawled on her mother's chest and nestled into her father's side.

Not wanting to wake her but knowing her back will thank him for it later, Aemond shakes Ysilla's ankle gently. She stirs, blinking slow and heavy before she spots him, and Aemond has to swallow past the lump in his throat. That look had gotten them into trouble many times before- in the back of a limo on the way to an art gala, on a beach lounger while they holidayed on the Orange Shore, when they first toured this flat and he decided they should christen the kitchen island. Good times.

Let's put her to bed. He mouths, not ready to break the stillness of the moment. Ysilla nods, flexing her arms around their sleeping child and starts to untangle their legs.

Aemond rises, hovering over them and tucking his hands into Dany's armpits to lift her into his chest. She's getting too big. She's got to stop growing before Aemond has a mental breakdown over dating and prom dresses while she's still in nursery school.

"Mumma, Daddy…" She's still asleep, her lashes fanning over her rosy cheeks and hair a moppy mess. Aemond rubs her back and Ysilla trails along next to him, brushing their daughter's curls out of her face.

"Sleep now, my angel. It's almost Christmas. And when you wake up, Santa will have visited and left you something special."

"And read my letter?"

"And read your letter." Ysilla promises, pressing a lovely kiss to her forehead. She stays behind in the doorway, letting Aemond clear the pink frilly bed of a million stuffed animals before sliding Dany beneath the sheets. He clicks on her firefly nightlight and tucks Frostfire in beside her.

"Sweet dreams, dōna hāedar." He's not a crier but he feels the salty sting in his nose. She's his one constant, his daughter, his heir. He'll never be more thankful for Ysilla than when she ignored her lawyer's advice and decided to split 50/50 custody. Losing her nearly killed him, if his daughter would've been lost to him too? Aemond's not sure he could've survived. He departs after a few more peaceful moments, clicking her door shut softly behind him.

He stretches, a pleased groan escaping him as he heads back to the living room. The couch is empty and in a brief moment of dumbstruck panic, he wonders if Ysilla seized her opportunity and left. He knows she's happy to be here with Dany, but he also accepts that she's not happy to be here with him.

The faucet flipping on in the kitchen snuffs out his dread and he follows the sound like it's a siren song. Ysilla washes their mugs methodically, her too long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. He'd given her one of his hoodies to dethaw in, and the emerald tone against her complexion makes him hungry. She finishes, turning the cups upside down on the drying rack before she towels off her hands. The smile she wears when she catches sight of him may be small, but it's genuine.

"Hey."

Aemond grins, a puppy given attention, his metaphorical tail wagging wildly. "Hey. Sad you missed out on your rum soaked bubble bath?"

Ysilla snorts, rolling her eyes at him good naturedly. "No, not at all. This was… nice. This was all very nice." She swallows hard, rolling down her sleeves so that they dip past her fingers again. "I enjoyed every second of it."

"So did I. It was like old times."

Ysilla grins, leaning her elbows on the counter. The only light in the whole flat is from the Christmas tree, the soft gold gleam painting the room alive with merriment.

"We practically lived on that couch when Dany was born, you remember?"

Aemond smirks, relishing in the memory. He treads into the kitchen, closing the distance between them as naturally as he can.

"It was closer to the food. And more spacious than the bedroom. It was an easy choice."

Ysilla laughs at his recollection, an easy laugh that he always celebrated getting out of her. He hopes Dany will laugh like her, be joyous like her. Aemond doesn't have much of that gene to pass on.

"You look good, Aemond." She gives him an up/down, and there's not enough light in here to tell if she's blushing. He gives her one back, taking his time on her legs and the curve of her thighs before the rest of her frame is swallowed up by his clothes.

"You do too, Sill."

She huffs, pinning him with a faux annoyed glare. "Are you going to agree with everything I say?"

"Oh absolutely." Aemond deadpans, leaning in closer before giving her his cheekiest grin.

Ysilla cranes her head back so she can keep their eyes connected, but she ends up breaking first, staring at something above him with a somewhat startled look.

"Mistletoe…" She trails off, almost too quiet to catch. Aemond looks above him and sighs.

"New assistant decorated. She has a thing for the doorman that lets her in here. Maybe she was trying to get lucky."

He dismisses the hovering green foliage as quick as he'd noticed it but when he looks back to Ysilla, she's still staring. Transfixed, eyes twinkling.

"Isn't it bad luck? To not…" He wonders if she can't bring herself to voice it aloud. To not kiss? Before tonight, they've barely been in the same room for more than thirty minutes in the last three years. Slipping each other the tongue is most likely a step way past their invisible boundary.

Aemond steps closer and they're toe to toe. Ysilla's eyes snap to his and the gulp she takes is damn near audible. He wraps a stray curl behind her ear, hand drifting over to cup the soft edge of her cheek. He presses his thumb under her chin, making her raise her lips to nearly brush against his. He stares into her eyes, the drip of the faucet thunderous, and bends down. He kisses her forehead, eyes closed and his nose burrowing into her fringe, committing her floral pheromone to his memory. He stays there, listening to the labored breaths rise and fall in her chest, and soaks in the moment.

He has to leave because if he doesn't, he'll start something he's not sure Ysilla will be able to stomach in the bright light of day. Like pulling teeth, he steps back, purposefully (shamefully) avoiding her beseeching eyes. He mumbles a goodnight, lips burning and craving another taste as he turns to exit.

He's spun back around by a firm hand twisting him by his sweater. Ysilla yanks him down to her level, his back pressing into the counter, and she slides her lips over his. A puppet on a string for her and her alone, Aemond's arms circle round her waist and he crushes her to him. It's as good as their first- no, better. He knows every spot that makes her sigh, she can find each nerve to set him off. It's as easy as breathing, when they're together and he lets himself enjoy it all.

Ysilla breaks away and she's breathing much harder than she was before. "Now that's a proper kiss." She whispers and he feels her lips perk up in a silly little grin that he doesn't see, because his mouth finds hers again and he loses himself in her.

He lifts her and she goes gracefully into his arms, winding her legs around his waist. He needs to get them somewhere they could go horizontal, wishful thinking and all that. He guides them to the couch, throwing himself down on it and pulling her in as close as space will permit. She settles on his lap, her leggings and his joggers doing nothing to conceal the massive hard-on that spells out her name.

"And what do you want for Christmas this year, little girl?" Swiss, gouda, cheddar. The line is so cheesy but Aemond feels inspired by the holiday fair. That, and he's been bricked since she put on his clothes. He wants to get her naked as soon as possible and if he can fast track that by way of a stupid joke that's right up her alley, he can live with that.

She nibbles at his earlobe before slithering her tongue up the shell of his ear. Her lips tickle the cartilage as she whispers and it makes him shiver. "I really want to make a joke about Santa's sack right now."

"Christ, Ysilla." Aemond groans, letting an exasperated laugh bubble out of his chest. This is so his fault.

"You know I'm funny." She cradles his face, angling his head to the side so that she can lick and bite at his neck.

"Maybe. But what I do know for sure… is that you're the most stunning woman I've ever been blessed to see. And you are a magnificent mother to our daughter. And you were a phenomenal partner to me…" Aemond braces himself, a glutton for punishment. "And I fucked that up royally, didn't I?"

He feels Ysilla frown and she straightens, sliding back to sit on his knees rather than on his dick. "Aemond, you know that's not what happened."

He hmms noncommittally, mourning the route that they both steered away from. Sex over feelings is usually a no brainer for any man but this is a conversation that he needs to have. And from the way Ysilla's eyes dim down to a sad hue, it's one she needs to have too.

"We're not together right now because I couldn't, how did you phrase it? 'Get my head out of my ass and straighten out my priorities'? Yeah, you hit the nail on the head there, baby. It was my fault."

"That wasn't fair to you. I could've tried harder. I was so stressed after Dany was born, I didn't feel like myself. Didn't start feeling like myself again until nearly a year ago." She picks up his hand and she cradles it between both of her own, stroking at the rough rise of his knuckles.

"If you're feeling like yourself again, does that mean you're seeing someone?"

Ysilla looks like she wants to hit him and Aemond thinks he should let her.

"Of course not, why would you even ask that?"

"You seem happier as of late- or, at least that's what Dany says. Couldn't help but think it might be because of someone new." The thought makes him want to chew glass but he has to ask. He's got to prepare himself for another year of the only girl in his life being a pint-sized princess that demands he plays pony anytime they go to the park.

"We're separated, Aem. Not divorced." She rolls her eyes and the expression she aims at him spells out duh.

"You're a catch, Sill. Any fucker would be lucky to have you. Plus, it's been three years. I wouldn't be angry if you explored something new." Liar, liar.

"Yeah, three years where I was focusing on what was best for me and Dany. And that certainly wasn't a new lover."

Aemond wants to dance a fucking jig in absolute glee but he suppresses it. "So… no one?"

"No one." Ysilla looks at him like she's afraid to ask the next question. "You?"

"There's no one but you. Never has been." The words flow out of him as if they'd lived on the tip of his tongue his whole life.

She exhales, a long, heavy breath of relief before the most brilliant smile blooms on her mouth. Aemond feels lighter than a fucking feather, his own smile pulling tightly at his lips before they find their way back to one another, licking and lapping into each others' mouths.

He rolls his hips up, selfish in his desire, and rubs his entire shaft up the hot line of her clothed snatch.

Ysilla tsks, biting his lip and wagging her finger in his face. "Un-uh, wrap it up, big boy."

"Thought you liked it when I go raw." He squeezes her hips, his thumbs tugging at the edge of her waistband. He dips below the elastic, stroking the hot, smooth skin over her hip bones. She rocks forward, a gasp slipping from her mouth as her covered center brushes at his tented cock. "You always came harder when I didn't wear a rubber."

She doesn't deny it, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him back to her mouth. Between kisses, she whispers, "Proof of that is dreaming of sugar plum fairies as we speak."

Aemond hums around her tongue, pulling away to kiss across her jaw. "Y'know, only children always end up weird."

Ysilla scoffs, leaning away and raising a fine dark brow at him.

"I'm kidding." Aemond smiles, brash and bright, pressing an apologetic peck to her chin.

"No you're not." She groans, widening her thighs as he starts to pull her leggings down. His heart is beating so fast, he can feel his pulse jumping in his neck. His hands worship the skin he bares, stroking her fine, supple softness. He gets her pants past her knees before he loses his patience and decides that's good enough.

He shoves past his waistband, palming at his stiff shaft before pulling himself free. His cock springs up, weeping head finding her silk covered hole like a dart to a bullseye. His clever fingers hook around the crotch of her panties, pulling them to the side, his knuckles dragging across her wet lips like a ghost of a kiss. He will be eating out at some point tonight, lord willing.

"You're right, I'm not… I want a boy." He slips the tip inside of her, just enough to get a taste of the warmth of her pussy.

Their eyes lock and they don't break as Ysilla sinks down onto every rigid inch of his prick. Aemond's jaw drops, stupid to the pleasure of her steaming, slick cunt wrapping around him in such an embrace. It takes her a minute, wincing and whimpering as she goes until finally they're flush, thigh to thigh.

"That's my girl, takin' it all." Aemond croons, palm finding the back of her neck and thumb stroking just under her hairline. That lights her fire, Ysilla gyrating in smooth figure eights, finding a rhythm that has both of them biting their lips to keep from shouting.

"Fucckkkk, I missed this." Ysilla pants, head thrown back in absolute ecstasy. She doesn't skip a beat, riding his cock like she'd never left it. "I missed you. You feel so good, holy hell."

Aemond spreads his knees further apart, letting her spread herself out, reaching deeper in her than before as a result. Ysilla bounces in his lap, the lights on the tree behind her haloing her into something festively angelic. She's some divine dream and Aemond will kill any man who dares to wake him.

A sharp, high whine brays from Ysilla's throat and Aemond's hand slaps over her mouth roughly.

"Easy sweetheart, you can't wake Dany up."

Ysilla moves her head back, Aemond's hand slipping away until she ducks forward and swallows two of his fingers. The wet, wiggly muscle of her tongue slides over his digits sloppily, soaking them in her saliva and reminding him exactly how she used to win every fight they would have. She sucks once more, letting him feel the strong flex of her mouth before she pulls off.

"Then put something in my mouth to shut me up."

He kisses her, long and hard, before retreating and whispering at her swelling lips. "I'm not pulling out of this pussy, Silli girl."

Ysilla's breath stutters, hips hitching as he shifts just right, her channel fluttering around him in tempo with her heartbeat.

"Mmmmm, then shove my face into a pillow so I can scream for you."

The way Aemond maneuvers her without pulling out is honestly impressive. Face down, ass up, he manages to rid her of her leggings and knickers, baring all of her silky skin for him to gaze upon. She's got a phenomenal ass, backshots with her used to drive him mad.

Taking full advantage of their new position, he sets a brutal pace, sliding in harsh and deep, his grip on her hips unyielding. When he pulls out, he lets himself miss the mark, gliding his cock between her puffy folds, his slit slithering up to kiss her clit.

Ysilla gasps for air, pushing away the pillow she'd been smothering herself with. "That's it, that's it, yeah. Pound my pussy, Daddy."

It's been a long time since they've played this game but without fail, Aemond's cock jerks in interest and his mouth floods with saliva. He's famished, he's fucking starving, and they only thing that can satiate him is the woman he made a mother.

"Mmmm, this all for daddy? Makin' a mess on my lap, leavin' a puddle on my couch?" His voice has dropped, the rumble of it pulsing from his chest. His thrusts hit harder, punishing in a way that's similar to a spank on the rear.

"Yes, fuck, I've been wet since I put your hoodie on." Speaking of, she's still wearing it, the Oldtown High logo on the back faded and peeling. Aemond pushes it up to her shoulders until it bunches at the back of her neck. His big hands span the curve of her ribs until he finds himself a handful of her tits and kneads the heavy flesh.

He can't fuck her like he wants to when their baby is sleeping in the next room, but he gets as close as he can.

"Your body wants me, love. Couldn't pull out even if I fuckin' wanted to." He strokes at her belly, caressing the place she'd grown their girl. "I think she wants one more." He plants a kiss between her shoulder blades, her skin fucking blistering with heat.

"Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck!" She throws her ass back on him, fucking him in earnest until she can't abuse that spongy spot inside of her any longer. She freezes, muscles trembling and fists clenching, the poor throw pillow being shredded by her teeth, until her body goes lax, and the vice grip around Aemond's cock loosens.

His balls draw up, the edge of his spine burning in need, and he curses with gritted teeth. "Christ, Sill, tell me to pull out. Tell me baby, make me." She's the only one that gets to see him like this- unraveled at the seams and flying apart, unable to control himself when presented with the object of all of his fantasies.

"Mmmm no, so warm," she slurs, her cheek smushed against the couch cushion. She wiggles back against him, a sinful invitation to grab hold and let go. "Fill me up, Aem. Give me your load, come on."

"Fuck yesss." He hisses, obeying as commanded, pistoning in and out of her pretty cunt before he's a goner, grunting as he cums deep in her greedy womb.

He slouches on top of her bonelessly, the aftershocks stinging through his entire lower half, his breaths choppy and uneven until the wave retreats, and the feeling comes back to his toes. He slumps to his side, rolling off of her, yanking up his joggers and tossing a throw over Ysilla's alluring backside.

His wife props her head up on her hand, staring at him with a sated, sleepy expression.

"Santa came early this year."

Aemond doesn't react except to say, "If that's a cum joke, I'm kicking you out."

She breathes out a laugh, shoving at his shoulder. "No you perv, I meant my Christmas wish. It came true."

Aemond smiles, every bit of him happy to sink into the couch while watching her talk.

"Care to share?"

Ysilla blushes, as if she didn't just get creampied.

"I wished for a really good orgasm, preferably with my baby daddy." She plays footsie with him, looping her ankle around his calf and ushering him closer. "Also, I wished for multiple. As many as he's willing to give me. Just so you know."

He kisses her because he can and because he missed doing so. He lurches forward until she's underneath him, their hands going to the other's shirts and ridding them of the suffocating material.

"Ho ho ho, baby mama."

They both keep their word and don't read the letter, tossing it into the lit fire the next morning before Dany stumbles out and screeches Happy Christmas! to her poor, sleep deprived parents.

The flames eat the careful, crooked scrawl in seconds but the words seem to have manifested to life as Dany watches her mother and father blush every time they bump into one another.

Dear Mr. Claus,

I know I wrote you a letter last week but I have changed my mind. Please tell your elves to forget the dolly. What I truly want is for my Mummy and Daddy to be back together. They smile more when they're together, and I do too. This is my one Christmas wish and I will be very very very sad if it does not come true, so please try real hard, okay? Okay. Thanks alot alot. I wish you the best of luck with everything!

PS: If you happen to have a spare dolly in your bag, I won't say no to it.

Love,

Daenerys Aemma Targaryen

rūs . baby

dōna hāedar . sweet girl

#hotd #house of the dragon #modern hotd #aemond targaryen #modern aemond #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #daddy aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #ysilla targaryen #hotd holidays

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luviisabella · 8 months ago

Note

Hey, I recently developed a small obsession with the song "Crush" by Tessa Violet and I was wondering if you could share some thoughts about it ✨ Maybe Katsuki feels like a hopeless loser as he crushed over Reader, not knowing that the Reader has already these feelings? Overall, just fluff hehe 🫶

authors notes: aw I listened to the song and it’s cute, i definitely see him being a sucker for reader and thinking she doesn’t feel the same way :(

context: fluff, university au (18+)

It was the week before fall break, some classes were either canceled for teachers vacation or there wasn’t much going on. On Friday, the school through a mini festival in celebration of fall break and for good luck with new season.

Everyone was allowed to either dress up, wear their uniforms, or costumes depending on whether or not they were in the festival. You decided to wear black leggings, brown boots(like uggs), a white long sleeve with a cute brown jacket and a scarf (color of your choice). It was cold so everyone was wearing pants, long sleeves, scarves, and whatever to keep themselves even remotely warm.

—

“Bakugou!”

You noticed him shooting hoops at a basketball game outside with Kirishima as you walk over to them.

“Hey y/n, nice fit”

Kirishima was always good with compliments, kept it respectful and causal.

“Thanks kiri” you softly smile at his compliment. You look over at Bakugou who hasn’t even bat an eye at you. Him and Kirishima were in their school attire which looked so good on Bakugou. He wasn’t even wearing the sweater, just the white button down and tie and oh God-

“What’re you staring at?”

He was talking to you.

“Sorry I was-“ and then you stopped talking, realizing he still wasn’t looking at you. What’s his deal? Usually he’d at least acknowledge you with a “here to bother me?” Or “what do you want.”

His demeanor this time seemed so dismissive, you figured it was because he was focused on the game so you waited until he was finished.

Ding Ding Ding

“Congratulations young man, you can pick any prize up there of your choice”

The game manager looked at Bakugou as he walked off, huffing under his breath.

“Don’t want one.”

Your eyes also follow Bakugou as he walks away.

“How much is that panda?” You politely turn to ask the man, hoping it would make him feel better and to excuse Bakugou’s behavior.

“Well if you play it’s free if you win but if you’re talking cash it’s [___]”

You slightly frowned, not thinking it was worth it so you politely declined before looking back to try and find Bakugou.

You finally found him and as you began walking towards him you noticed a girl come up to him. She was also in the school uniform but she seemed… flirty? Her hand gently nudging Bakugou as she laughed and smiled, was she blushing?? You couldn’t see Bakugou’s face since his back was turned to you, but you didn’t want to see him. The girl pulled out her phone and handed it to Bakugou and that’s when you turned around.

You walked away, as far as you could. He was being a jerk to you but had the patience for a girl he’s never even met? Your heart was beating against your chest, you knew you liked him and assumed it was jealousy. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was the way you were hoping he’d at least comment on your outfit. You found a nearby bench and sat down, allowing your mind to relax as your emotions began circling around you like an endless whirlpool.

You looked around the scenery. It was packed with university students and some teachers. There were so many food trucks, game machines, and etc. it was busy. In hopes of taking your mind off of it you decided to buy some cotton candy.

—

“Can I get strawberry?” You politely ask the young man. He seemed to be in if not your grade at least the grade above.

“Anything for a pretty girl like you”

You smile at his compliment, “Thank you” at least someone aside from Kirishima noticed your presence.. but it wasn’t him.

You paid for the cotton candy before walking off, as you were about to take some you felt a strong hand pull you back, now taking a piece of your cotton candy.

“Hey-“ you notice it’s Bakugou, you look at him before handing him the cotton candy.

“Have it.” And you turn to walk away before he pulls you back by your arm.

“I never said I wanted it.”

“Then throw it away.” You were giving him attitude and he was not having it.

“The hell’s your problem.”

“I don’t know go ask your girlfriend.”

“Hah-?!”

“You heard me, that girl that was obviously flirting with you.”

“I don’t want her. That’s why I told her to ‘fuck off’, what’s it to you?”

You bite your lip, you’ve had enough with these stupid feelings and the way your heart races every time he’s near.

“I like you. I’m not sure if I’ve made it obvious, but if not then now you know. So sorry if im a bit of a grouch seeing another girl flirt with the guy I’ve liked since high school and today seemed to not even bother acknowledging me until now.”

Wow- you really let it all out huh? There was a moment of silence and he just stared at you. You looked away for a moment and closed your eyes before sighing..

“Look-“ but your words were cut off when you opened your eyes and saw the expression on his face, your body growing hot all over from shock.

“What did you just say?”

He was red. His cheeks, nose, ears, all red. He looked like he would pass out from a 104 fever right then and there. Why was he reacting this way??

“That I- like you..?” You were confused.. what was the problem?

He covered his mouth with his hand before turning to look away.

“Dumbass.”

He lifted his hand, a panda plushie? Wait. This was the one from earlier?? From the basketball game?? How did he-

“I saw you talking to the guy, I went back and asked him what you were talking about so when he told me I got it with the tickets I won from the stupid game.”

You gently cupped it with both of your hands before looking at it and back up at him.

“Bakugou-“

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner??”

You slightly frowned, why did it matter? It seemed like he didn’t like you anyways.

“I didn’t know you felt the same way and here I’ve been trying to keep myself together cause I thought you were being an idiot and couldn’t tell I liked you.”

What?

What did he just say?!

“You.. like me too?”

“Obviously idiot. Why do you think I never look at you when you talk to me?” He rubs the back of his head before sighing.

“You’ve been driving me insane since we graduated. Couldn’t get you out of my damn head. When I told Kirishima he told me I liked you but I denied it.. then when I saw you the first day of school.. I realized he was right and I was being an idiot trying to say otherwise.”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d like a guy like me.”

“I don’t think-“ and his words were cut off with the sudden impact to his chest. You were hugging him. You wrapped your arms around his back, the plushie still in hand as you buried your face into his chest.

“You’re right.”

And his heart aches for a moment at your words.

“I know-“

“You are an idiot for thinking otherwise and for thinking I wouldn’t like a ‘guy like you’.”

His eyes widened a little in surprise, you looked up at him and smiled.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, it hasn’t changed except for the fact that the longer I knew you the more I wanted to be with you. You’re a good person.. kats. You shouldn’t feel otherwise. You’re more than enough for me, okay?”

Oh you pulled on a heartstring.. the minute you buried your face back into his chest he hugged you tightly. Now burying his face in your neck as he smiled against your shoulder.

—

“You’re too damn good for me.”

“And you’re perfect for me.”

Ah I hope this was okay, I feel like I rushed it a bit but I wanted to finish it for you. I really hope you like it if not it’s okay 🥲, this was a cute concept though, Bakugou definitely would think he’s a bit too much for you but with you reassuring him he’s enough I think all he can do is melt for you more. I’m a sucker for loser Bakugou who melts for reader.

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burnforyou · 5 months ago

Text

say yes to heaven

pairing: boyfriend!Jack Schlossberg x figure skater!girlfriend!reader

summary: Christmas in New York City with Jack. He's a sappy baby.

"the city is so beautiful during this time of the year," you say, gazing upon the colorful Christmas lights that give the hibernating trees life in the cold winter. the snow falls around you delicately, leaving cold patterns on your shoulders. the storefronts you walk past are perfectly decorated, advertising the most popular holiday gifts this year. Jack squeezes your hand.

"not as beautiful as you," he smiles down at you, his eyes shining as bright as the lights.

"oh, stop it," you giggle, extending your connected arms as you move away from him.

"come 'ere," he says gruffly, pulling you back in with a slight smile. he slinks his arm around your shoulder and you creep your hand under his jacket, feeling his lower back, basking in his warmth against the cold air. you round the corner, letting Jack led the way. when you're with him, you relax and let him lead you. he could lead you to the end of the world and you'd happily follow. little did you know, Jack was riddled with anxiety the whole walk.

the bright lights of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree illuminate your face and your heart.

"wow," you breathe out, your breath appearing in the cold air. Jack smiles down at you, his eyes so full of love.

"is it better than you imagined?" he asked with a nervous smile.

"way better." you don't take your eyes off the scenery, admiring the empty ice rink.

"Mr. Schlossberg?" a male voice sounds from behind you. Jack turns around, moving you with him. he holds two pairs of ice skates in his hands. you gasp and smile up at jack.

"thank you," he says, taking the skates. "here," he hands him a wad of cash, "give him your purse," he whispers to you. you hand the man the purse and smile. he walks away without a word.

"here, come this way," Jack says, grasping your hand with his empty one. he leads you down concrete stairs beside the glistening rink. you cant tear your eyes off the golden statue, sat below the tree.

"sit here," he offers, placing the skates on a bench. he brushes the light snow flurries off the seat and pats it, indicating you to sit down. you sit down and he kneels on the ground before you, slipping off your ugg boots. you admire his perfect features from above, small flurries landing on his nose and dark hair. he pushes the skate onto your foot and laces it up. you run your finger nails through his hair and he smiles, feeling the butterflies in his stomach.

"I love you," you say through your smile, tilting his head up to look at you. he tears his eyes from your skate to your face, his deep brown eyes blazing and his cheeks pink. he bites his lip and stares at you. his palms get sweaty and he takes shallow breaths. he goes back to tying your skates for you, enjoying taking care of you. he quickly puts his skates on and leads you to the rink. you glide onto the rink together, your actions smooth from years of skating.

"you should show me some of your moves," he says, his smile never leaving his face, "you know how much I love watching you skate." you let go of his hand and glide in front of him, turning around once you're a few feet away. the lights from the tree reflecting below your feet.

"what do you want me to do?"

"do one of those pretty glides, where you balance on one foot and the other one goes up," he suggests, pulling his phone out of his pocket. you skate around the rink, focusing on your balance and pretending like he's not watching. you feel his hot stare on you. he can't take his eyes off of you. he starts recording you on his phone as you round the turn and hold your breath, lifting your leg up and strengthening your core like you've done thousands of times before. the wind on your face and the sound of your skate scratching the ice comforts you. getting to share your joy for skating with Jack is so special. he never gets tired of watching you.

you gracefully complete the move for him and skate back to him, pretending to bow and wave to a crowd. he claps for you.

"wonderful, beautiful," he praises, clapping. you feel his praise in your stomach. "now, come here," he says, putting his arm around your shoulder. "I have something to show you." he guides you closer to the golden sculpture. you admire the details in the art.

"this is Prometheus, a Greek titan. he's meant to represent human striving, new frontiers, like new beginnings or discoveries. he's sat on a mountain, which is earth. but to me, he's sat on all that has come before him. he's sitting on history. he's surrounded by the fountain," he points to the water around the bronze statue, "which represents the sea. to me, he's surrounded by the present. and there, circling him is the ring of the zodiacs, or the heavens. and that's the future. a bright future full of stars and stories. that's what I want with you, y/n." you rip your eyes away from the art and look up at him, his eyes already on you.

"y/n, I-," he sighs, closing his eyes and starting again. his eyes glisten with tears and yours reflect his.

"these past 2 years i've spent with you have been the best years of my life. when I think about it, I feel like him," he gestures to Prometheus, "sitting on my past and going into, or, wanting new beginnings. forever. when I think about our future together its like the heavens that surround him. it- it is heaven. the idea of being with you forever is heaven." you grab onto his arms, his words making you weak. a cold tear falls down your face and he wipes it away, his hand remaining on your face. he holds you, his star, his love. he guides your face to look back up at the sculpture, pointing at his empty bronze hand. there, on his ring finger, is a silver ring. you cover your mouth and tears uncontrollably fall. beside you, jack gets down on one knee on the ice and pulls out a black velvet box from his coat pocket.

"Jack," you say through your tears.

"y/n," he says, smiling up at you, also holding back his tears. "will you marry me?" he smiles, opening the box. inside is a huge, toi et moi sterling silver sing with a green and white crystal beside each other.

"Jack," you cry out, trying to hug him, you don't care how, you just want to hold him. before you know it, you're lying on top of him and he's flat on the ice, laughing in your ear.

"are you alright?" you inquire, holding the back of his head, your eyes full of worry. he sits up, leaning back on his hands. your legs stay wrapped around his waist.

"baby, i'm fine," he says, kissing your cheek, "as long as I'm with you I am perfect."

"you're so cheesy," you laugh.

"so, is that a yes?" he asks, holding the ring in front of you again.

"jack, yes!" you smile together uncontrollably. he grasps your left hand with his icy one, slips the large ring onto your finger, and kisses your hand.

"I love you," he exclaims, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

#jack schlossberg #jack schlossberg x reader #jack schlossberg fanfic #jack schlossberg imagine #Jack schlossberg fluff #my works #divider by cafekitsune

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huellitaa · 5 months ago

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pretty girl winter 🧁❄️🎀

ok so winter is my FAVOURITE season ever!! i am THE christmas girl of all time and i wna make this the most beautiful pink christmas ever! and i am so excited to spend it with my favourite people ever (my tumblr girls) ❄️🩷

🧁𓂃 ࣪˖ winter music ♡

sweet dreams, tomorrow x together

last christmas, ariana grande

sleigh ride, the ronettes

merry & happy, twice

beautiful christmas, red velvet / aespa

santa tell me, ariana grande

doughnut, twice

winter wonderland, beabadoobee

jingle bell rock, bobby helms / aespa

rocking around the christmas tree, brenda lee

let it snow! let it snow! let it snow!, dean martin

have yourself a merry little christmas, judy garland

christmas dreaming, laufey

one more sleep, leona lewis

cindy lou who, sabrina carpenter

(🎀🗒 note: i also have a playlist filled with lots of these songs and music here! ♡)

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ winter beauty ♡

moisturiser moisturiser moisturiser. hand cream is also a must so they dont get cracked and dry, especially in the winter! ❄️🫶🏻🩷

i dont take cold showers in the winter bcuz i get ill easily , so i always take warm showers w 30 seconds of cold at the end 💭🎀💗

vanilla, cinnamon, musk, chocolate, pomegranate, cherry, pudding and sweet, rich scents 💭🐧🫶🏻

makeup in pale pink, white, soft gold, silver, lots of sparkles, dewy and light

red lip gloss / stick is an essential! 💭🎀

🎄𓂃 ࣪˖ winter fashion ♡

fluffy coats!!!!! i personally love my massive black trenchcoat its v cute

scarves, hats, gloves, etc ♡ 🎀🧸

leggings, tights, long socks, leg warmers, etc. (i esp love sheer tights!)💭

anything faux-fur lined

pink, silver, gold, and white ♡

boots, uggs, doc martens, clunky shoes!

🎀💭❄️ simple formula to a cute winter fit:

skirt -> tights -> long sleeves -> coat -> shoes

(long sleeves can be anything from turtleneck to jumper, tights can be leggings / long socks or whatever you like, and the same goes for shoes! this is an easily versatile idea, not one size fits all 🫶🏻)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ winter movies ♡

muppet christmas carol!!!!!♡ my fav ever

the nightmare before christmas

beauty and the beast: the enchanted christmas

the miracle on 34th street

the grinch (live and animated)

jingle all the way

the polar express

home alone

mean girls (not a christmas film, but the jingle bell rock scene is iconic)

(🎀🗒 note: one thing i like to do is compile a list of all ur favourite shows and their christmas / winter episodes and just binge watch all of them!! 🩷🫶🏻🎄🧸)

🌨𓂃 ࣪˖ winter activities ♡

i love journalling and scrapbooking at any time of year, but i feel like it's always extra cosy in winter! playing some christmas music, cuddling up in pink pyjamas and journalling 🫶🏻🎀🩷

anything to do with baking and hot food is so cosy; gingerbread houses and hot chocolate, christmas cupcakes !! 🎄🫶🏻

i dont really know what category this falls into, but around christmas time i always love to make things about my family and friends; painting, decorating photos and hanging them up, journalling about them, and so on ! 💭💝❄️

make a list of all the people you're getting christmas presents for this year and compile a little bundle of things for them! 💗💭

learn about old winter tales and folklore, fron your culture or from others 🌨🎀

take up sewing, knitting, crocheting, etc. even if you've never done it before 🩷🧸

christmas market hopping!!!!!! one of my favourite things to do in winter is go out with my friends, go shopping and just browse the stalls bcuz theyre always so cute and cosy 🧁🐧💗

writing & making christmas cards ❄️🎀

unnecessary acts of kindness! this should go without saying for majority of the time, but i always love to go the extra mile during christmas to keep with the spirit and everything 🫶🏻🧸🎄

ice skating. obviously. i wanna go w my friends this year !!! 🎀⛸️🧁☃️

all my love, and happy december! 🎄🎀🫶🏻💗

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honeytonedhottie · 7 months ago

Text

HONEYS IT GIRL MAGAZINE september edition⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

welcome back to honeys it girl magazine, this is the september catalog. get ready for the inside scoop on data that i've collected, things i've learned/started doing, and just general info like that organized in kind of a teen-magazine inspired fashion. a magazine for it girls ✨ and now please enjoy, the it girl magazine.

YOUR GUIDE TO VINTAGE GLAM ;

lately i've been OBSESSED with vintage glam. their makeup is so dramatized and utterly stunning and it just has this timeless elegance to it. so im super duper excited to dive into that in this catalogue…💬🎀

♡ a classic red lip

♡ winged eyeliner

♡ lush lashes

♡ defined brows (arched brows like betty boop)

♡ faux beauty marks

♡ soft eyeshadows

♡ a big bouncy blow out

♡ pearls and diamonds cuz diamonds are a girl's best friend

other details that can really capture the essence of a vintage glam look include pearl necklaces and earrings, cat-eye sunglasses, or a structured handbag. remember, its all about enhancing natural elegance with just the right amount of drama and UMPH.

you can see with this page of my fashion journal where i styled some vintage glam looks. so i incorporated silkier textures and long dresses for that old hollywood charm. idk what it is about hand gloves but they just SCREAM elegance and beauty so i incorporated that into the first outfit.

clutches are SO vintage glam and gorgeous and as u can see i incorporated pearls into the second outfit in the earrings, bracelet and neck piece.

FALL FASHION ;

fall fashion to me is tights and mini skirts. leg warmers and uggs and form fitting sweaters. let’s talk about some fall fashion. the tights and mini skirt combo is a classic and it’s an amazing way to incorporate wearing mini skirts even as the weather begins to get a little colder. the tights add a nice touch, even if it isn’t the color of ur skin tone, tights IN GENERAL look rly nice.

ankle boots, ugg boots, BOOTS are so so fall. i rly love ankle boots that have a heel to them and bonus points if ur fall shoes include fur. the fall shoes on my shopping list are ->

ugg boots

ankle boots

mary jane style shoes

ballet flats

form fitting sweaters and jackets are so in for the fall. along with tracksuits. the color pallete for having a bambi doll fall are very much browns, cashmeres, and baby pink. honestly think of neapolitan colours. pink, brown and an off-whitish almost pastel yellow. think PASTRY PRINCESS.

baby phat puffers are perfect for the transition from fall to winter and a good pair of jeans is CRUCIAL for fall. another thing i wanna talk about with fall fashion is LAYERING. layering is such an important aspect of fashion period but ESPECIALLY fall fashion. experiment with different lengths, textures etc. one of my favorite layering combination during the fall is ->

long sleeve tops with a camisole underneath

a form fitting long sleeve top (the ones with buttons at the front) look so DOLLY and adorable when u dont button it, and wear a camisole underneath. its just MWAH. some more fall fashion details also include ->

fur details

ribbons and lace details

delicate jewelry choices

tights and leg warmers

layering

boots

neopolitan cinnamon princess color scheme

long sleeves

mini skirts + tights combo

BEING A HOTTIE THIS FALL ;

fall is such an easy season to romanticize! and what better way to romanticize the fall then to make a pinterest board or a mood board. in this section of the magazine lets talk about things that u can do this fall to make ur fall SUPER memorable…💬🎀

♡ make cinnamon rolls (recipe is in the section before horoscope)

♡ go apple picking

♡ read a spooky/mystery novel

♡ pumpkin spice latte!

♡ invest in a yummy fall scented candle and light it often to make ur space smell like fall

fall beauty incorporates things like nude lip combos, warmer scents and french tips!…💬🎀

♡ soft bouncy curls

♡ nude lip combos

i recommend the nyx butter gloss (madeleine) and the nyx chocolate lip liner for a pretty chocolaty look. if ur looking for another nude lip combo use the nyx butter gloss (angel food cake) and the nyx club hopper lip liner…💬🎀

♡ french tips

♡ nude colored manicures and pedicures

♡ coffin and stiletto shaped nails

CINNAMON ROLLS RECIPE ;

nothing screams fall to me more than cinnamon rolls. they're just so yummy and cinnamony and so FALL. so here is a recipe to make ur very own cinnamon rolls this fall.

♡ in a mixing bowl, add 1 cup of warm milk

♡ 1/4 cup of sugar and 2 1/2 teaspoons of active dry yeast and give it a little mix

now set this aside for 5 minutes or until its frothed up. if it DOESNT froth up then ur yeast is not okay and ur gonna have to start again…💬🎀

♡ 4 2/3 cups of all purpose flour, 1/3 cup packed light brown sugar, 1/2 teaspoon of salt, half a teaspoon of cinnamon

♡ melt half a cup of butter and add it into the dry mixture and mix everything together in ur mixer but dont mix before adding 1 large egg and a tablespoon of vanilla extract

♡ now turn on ur mixture and knead the dough until its tacky but doesnt stick to ur fingers

♡ now get an oiled up bowl and put the dough in, and cover with a sheet. put it in a warm place so that then ur dough can rise (1 1/2 - 2 hours)

the reason why u have to wait so long is cuz the yeast is working rly hard to break down things like the milk and the butter so just be patient and excited cuz its gonna taste so good…💬🎀

♡ combine 1/2 cup of light brown sugar, 1 1/2 tablespoons of cinnamon and mix together with a fork

♡ once ur dough is done, make sure u flour up ur clean counter and put the dough onto it. with floured hands pat the dough and shape it, just kinda flatten it out

♡ spread out super soft butter across the dough and spread the cinnamon sugar we made over the dough in a nice even layer and once you've done that its time to roll the dough into a cylinder

♡ next butter ur baking dish, cut ur cinnamon rolls with some dental floss or string and place them in the dish, and make sure u give them room to grow

♡ cover them with a sheet again and put them in a warm place for 1 hour so that they can rise, once you've done that put them in the oven at 350 degrees for 20- 25 minutes

while the cinnamon rolls are baking, we'll make a luscious cream cheese icing to go on top of the cinnamon rolls once they're done…💬🎀

♡ combine 2 tablespoons of softened butter, along with 4 ounces of softened cream cheese, a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of vanilla extract and mix it with a hand mixer

♡ add 2 cups of powdered sugar and add a bit of milk as needed. if u want a thicker icing or a thinner one

♡ lastly add ur icing all over the top of ur cinnamon rolls once they're out of the oven and ENJOY

WHATS MY HOROSCOPE (SEPTEMBER 27-31) ;

♡ for virgo, when the sun enters libra on september 22, your self-esteem and natural talents are activated. with the ability to earn money and achieve success heightened, abundance flows. just be sure you’re saving, budgeting, and making wise investments. venus moves into scorpio on the same day, energizing your communication zone. surface-level connections will fall flat as you crave deeper, more intimate conversations. mercury enters libra on september 26, enhancing your powers of negotiation and manifestation.

♡ for aries, the energy changes when the sun enters libra on the twenty-second, activating your relationship sector. use this opportunity to strengthen your closest bonds, form alliances, and bring your romantic visions to life. venus enters scorpio the same day to awaken your realm of intimacy and money. you could find yourself drawn to mysterious people or situations. venus in motivated scorpio elevates your drive, making you an unstoppable force, especially regarding manifestation. this is an excellent time to negotiate. mercury enters libra on september 26, adding a dash of charm to communication with your loved ones.

♡ for taurus, the sun enters libra on september 22 and brings warmth to your realm of service and self-love. strive to create a healthy work/life balance. your relationships deepen when venus enters scorpio later the same day, bringing intensity to your closest connections. you could feel a stronger desire for intimacy and a pull toward mystery and secrets. be conscious of codependency and unrealistic expectations. mercury moves into harmony-seeking libra on september 26, encouraging solutions and charisma within your relationships.

♡ for gemini, you’re full of joy, creativity, and romance when the sun enters libra on september 22, activating your happiness sector. inspiration will be heightened, so pay attention to your ideas. when venus enters scorpio on the same day, it’s time to turn your attention inward. your desire to explore the depths of your mind, body, and soul intensifies, making this an excellent time to embrace self-care practices that promote greater self-love. mercury enters libra on september 26, awakening your charisma and warmth in communications.

♡ for cancer, when the sun enters air sign libra on september 22, you’ll feel ready to cozy up with your loved ones and enjoy the comforts of your environment. with your zone of intuition activated, your emotions will be powerful. venus enters scorpio on the same day, and your creativity will skyrocket. if you crave more romance, initiate it. mercury enters libra on september 26, encouraging you to share your real feelings.

♡ for leo, when the sun enters libra on september 22, you’ll feel eager to express your incredible ideas and connect with others. activating your communication sector, the libra sun enhances your natural charisma and creates ease in conversations. venus enters mysterious scorpio on the same day, prompting you to reflect on your emotional needs. your heart requires you to be assertive, especially with loved ones. mercury moves into peace-loving libra on september 26, inviting you to communicate from a place of neutrality.

♡ for libra, the sun enters your sign on september 22, ushering in a brand-new cycle. you’re the star of the show and your powers of manifestation are heightened. get ready for an exciting new chapter full of opportunity! venus enters scorpio on the same day, enhancing your ability to earn money. mercury enters your sign on september 26, which gives you the gift of clarity. share your ideas and express yourself. you will be well received.

♡ for scorpio, when the sun enters libra on september 22, your need for retreat and soul-searching is highlighted. over the next few weeks, you’ll find the most peace during moments of relaxation. the libra sun activates your imagination, so allow yourself moments to get lost in fantasy and embrace the fluidity and surrender it brings. venus enters your sign on the same day, prompting you to ardently pursue your deepest desires and ask for what you want. mercury enters libra on september 26, helping you process your subconscious thoughts.

♡ for sagittarius, you’re ready to connect with friends when the sun enters libra on september 22, energizing your zone of community. it’s an excellent time to collaborate with others and show up on social media. venus enters scorpio and your privacy sector on the same day, prompting you to take intentional time alone to get clear on your emotional needs. mercury enters libra on september 26, and exciting conversations take place.

♡ for capricorn, when the sun enters libra on september 22, your career and goals come into focus. you’re especially magnetic and charming, which bodes well for negotiations. find ways to creatively showcase your gifts and embrace your people skills to achieve success this season. recognition arrives when you show up confidently, so find ways to empower yourself. venus enters scorpio on the same day, bringing intimacy to your friendships. mercury moves into libra on september 26, offering you clarity on your goals and the ability to plan them.

♡ for aquarius, imagination and creativity are the keys to your success. you’ll feel ready for expansion and adventure when the sun enters libra on september 22, energizing your zone of exploration. plan an exciting excursion with loved ones or book a spiritual retreat. personal freedom will feel important for you, so be mindful of overcommitting yourself to serious tasks that feel like burdens. venus enters scorpio later the same day, motivating you to make power moves in your career. mercury enters libra on september 26, boosting your ability to learn quickly.

♡ for pisces, when the sun enters libra on september 22, your sights will be set on resources and intimacy. when it comes to your closest bonds, you’ll crave lots of privacy. your approach to money will feel more solution based, and you could tap into a new revenue stream. venus enters scorpio the same day, inviting you to take a chance. mercury moves into libra on september 26, activating your need for deep conversations.

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