#anyways sometimes i see announcements for games and im like

[shuastar]

KISS 'ER UP (HVC) pt. 2

pairing: baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader wc: 12.8k warnings: SMUT (minors DNI), oral (f receiving), p in v (wrap it b4 u tap it even if vernon doesnt), boob worship?, heavy-ish make-out; unrealistic meet-cute, vernon being cute a/n: guys holy shit this took so long but its FINALLY done. i feel like i always end by long fics with smut but at least it ends well.......... anyways, send me requests now that i'm done w kiss 'er up!!! as always, ty guys sm for reading this <3

previous ; masterlist

In 3 weeks, you go to 6 home games. 

Which, in retrospect, is absolutely crazy because that’s averaging two (2!) games per week in the brunt of design finalizing and fashion week scrapbooking and planning with your team. 

And now, the one you’re sitting at seems to up your count from six to seven games in 3 weeks. Which means that your assistant will be calling you sometime next week asking if you ever finished finalizing the fashion week scrapbooks and tulle selections (only one of which you’ve actually finished. The other…. Well, let’s just say that it won’t be seeing the light of day for a while). Which also is part of your explanation to why you are busy multitasking between texting Yena, your assistant, on the last flap stitches for your fold-over bag for the F/W collection, gluing pieces of fabric and drawing cut-outs and print outs and colors down onto your scrapbook, and watching the actual baseball game and participating in half-assed and quarter-minded fanchants that seem to have no soul in it. 

All in that exact order. 

And it’s even harder to balance (especially your phone that teeters precariously off your knee because your actual table is too full of food, beer, and your scrapbooking trash pile) when your phone chimes with a familiar notification. 

new message from vernon⚾️����

You almost choke on your beer that was travelling half-way down your esophagus, coughing violently and trying not to get drops of Cass onto your scrapbook. 

For the first time in almost fifteen minutes, you raise your head, swiveling to try and see where the hell Vernon is texting you from because not only is it the middle of the seventh inning but it’s also the middle of his game. 

And he never goes on his phone during games. 

vernon⚾️🐈 yo u see that last play?

You roll your eyes at his text. Yo? Really? But also, typical Vernon. Almost three months – texting, calling, showing up to games, post-game chicken runs, and the occasional late-night movie theater run at Coex – made you accustomed to his rather nonchalant way of saying hi. Those including (but definitely not limited to) yo, hey, bro, dude, whats up, lol, and show cat now as in your actual feline pet, not your pussy (which you thought at first was what he was implying and almost blocked him before he clarified with a photo of his own cat that you were too scared to open for the first three minutes, thinking it was an unsolicited dick pic). 

You pause before you reply, placing the glue stick down. 

you yea obv

It’s a lie. A blatant one at that. But you feel bad telling Vernon hahaha no lol was too busy working on my pfw scrapbooking and model calls to be focused on ur game im at. 

So yeah. You lie.

But Vernon texts back in record time. 

vernon⚾️🐈 no u werent

You roll your eyes. 

you i was watching

vernon⚾️🐈 liar!! too busy lookin down @ ur sketches to watch me hit that ball outta da stadiummmm

you ur literally lying

vernon⚾️🐈 no im not but u wouldnt know bc ur too busy

you i have pfw stuff to sort out sue me

vernon⚾️🐈 ah so u admit that u werent paying attention

You don’t get a chance to reply before the speakers above your head crackle to life, stadium static breaking over the announcer’s booming voice:

“Now up to bat, our very own number twelve, VERNON CHWE!” 

All of the vowels in his name are stretched way too long but most of the call of his name is drowned in the thundering cheers and applause of the Diamonds fans crowding up the stadium. 

You jolt at the sudden screams, blinking up from your stupid silly grin at your phone. 

And just like that, the messages stop. 

Your phone is still perched on your thigh and the glue stick is loosely rolling under the pressure of your palm, face-down. Vernon’s already walking to the plate, bat slung over his shoulder like it’s just another Tuesday. You should focus back now. On the deadlined layouts and layering. But you can’t. Not when it’s Vernon batting.

He’s got that practiced swagger – not cocky, just calm – like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like he knows he’ll hit that ball well enough for second base. If not second, then definitely first. Under the stadium lights, the noise, the pressure, the blaring commentators, none of it touches him. His helmet shifts slightly when he adjusts his grip. From where you’re sitting tonight, just behind the catcher – the peripheral of all batters – you can see his neck tilt  as he grounds his feet. And you think, for one half-second, his eyes flit towards your section. 

You swear he sees you. 

You swear he knows. 

It’s annoying. 

It’s gut-wrenchingly annoying how good he looks standing there, chewing his gum like he’s in no rush at all. How he looks straight out of a baseball webtoon with his chestnut brown hair, tapping his bat once, twice, against the plate before he takes his stance. 

You pause your unconscious gluing. Your thumb sticks to a piece of lace organza. You don’t notice. 

The pitcher winds up. 

Vernon never flinches. 

And then

CRACK!

The sound is loud. Clean. Like the air itself snapped in half. 

You can see Vernon grin. 

You don’t even register the crowd erupting until half a second later, after the ball flies – high, hard, fast, promising – slicing through the humid air like it’s trying to give Vernon more time to run.

And him? Vernon? 

He doesn’t jog. He sprints. 

But you can see it – the calm – in the way he lets his helmet tilt back just a bit as he works his legs, pumps his arms. You can see it in the way he lays down his bat before he’s off. Calm again, like he knew – oh, he knew – that he’d make it. Like he saw the ball arcing across the midfielders’ heads before he even swung the bat. 

He rounds first so quick even his teammates cheer. 

He glances to the dugout. 

And you swear you see him glance at your section. 

A calm grin. Wide, so Vernon. 

Yeah. Definitely glances towards your section. 

Second base. 

He slides a little as the caught ball soars through the air from the outfielders towards second base. As his cleats touch down, it kicks up dirt, staining his white uniform. 

The ump signals safe. 

The crowd roars in approval, losing it. A couple of girls in front of you are screaming his name, hands shaking as they zoom into his victorious face, still on the ground, dusting himself off. 

You blink again. It hits you how much you’ve been staring. 

You shake your head, as if that will force your brain to refocus. 

You glance down at the mess of notebooks, pens, glue sticks, scissors, food, and beer on your table. 

The sigh is almost reactive. 

So is the blush that creeps onto your cheeks when you look up at Vernon, inching towards 3rd base, ready to steal, and his face is suddenly projected on the jumbotron, lips tilted up, helmet pulled down over his eyes as he looks determined. 

____________

Your home studio is a mess. 

Your apartment is a mess, actually. 

Not, like, a mess-mess, but the kind that only happens when you realize that you’re three days past a deadline, too stubborn to ask for help, and still choosing the color layering for a dress you told Yena you would have finished last week but technically still working out. 

Fabric swatches from the one Myeongdong fabric shop are draped across your studio couches, your coffee table in the living room is covered in opened sketchbooks, torn-out magazine pages, a slightly crusting bowl of tteokbokki you swore you would clean up after you scarfed it down last night. You haven’t. And until this color layering problem and the PFW designs start coming together, the most it’ll move and clean is probably just sit idly in the kitchen sink. 

There is the familiar bi-bi-bing!! of the giant JBL speaker in the corner of the living room as you cross your house to get to the studio-slash-sewing-slash-design-slash-procrastination room. Your playlist automatically hums to life in the background, WOODZ’s voice humming through the surround sound. It’s familiar – the same song you always put on when you’re trying to feel like a calm, collected, creative designer instead of a sleep-deprived maniac fighting for your life against the Fall/Winter collection because you’re indecisive and fashion, right about now, feels like the worst possible career choice you could have ever made. So many decisions! So little time! Yet so many deadlines!

You’ve lost your jean shorts for thin wide-leg sweatpants the moment you entered. The house is cold, like it always is, because you tend to forget to turn the AC off before you rush off to another meeting. And your off-shoulder crop top has already been decisively exchanged for a baggy shirt that you think is from your college ex-boyfriend but you’re not too sure, which is why you still have it. Your hair is barely holding in a claw clip, but you can’t bring yourself to waste ten precious seconds of your fingers not gluing, sewing, cutting, or slamming down against the table. 

It’s methodical, the way you work now, far away from the game and thus, as an extension, from Vernon: cut, glue, sew (if needed), stare at your work for ten seconds, drink your whiskey, realize it’s empty (again), pour yourself another sip because if you pour yourself more than a sip, you’re going to end of drinking yourself to miss another deadline. 

The drink burns, just enough to make your brain hum, and you pretend that the slight buzz will help you make your choices. 

You lean over the sketchbook laid out on top of your work desk, tapping a pencil against the edge of the page. The problem really has never been about the silhouette – you’ve had that nailed for weeks. It’s the layering. It’s always the layering. The trench you thought would be the centerpiece looks too heavy for the fall piece of the collection and too thin for the winter piece. So you switched it out with the asymmetrical drape coat. Except then, the metallic piping doesn’t translate to print. And you still haven’t decided on whether the main F/W bag should be a fold-over or a cross-body tote like the MiuMiu one three seasons ago. And don’t even get started with the color dilemma. 

Yena begged you to pick either beige or cream. You decided, in a fit of uncontrollable indecisiveness, to pick beige and cream. Now you’re stuck and beige is starting to look like cream and cream, beige. 

You flip the page, irritated. Try sketching something else. A structured jacket? Maybe another wool cape? Fur? But everything feels too soft. Too already-done. Nothing that makes you feel anything. Nothing that would stop someone mid-video at a show and look. 

You glance at the folded-up ticket stub from the game earlier, thrown carelessly on your desk with your phone and singular credit card when emptying your pockets. 

You haven’t heard from Vernon since he texted you a 👍after the Diamonds won 13-2. 

Not that it matters. 

But it does. 

And you do think about him as you sketch – completely unintentionally, which makes it like three times worse. As your pencil glides across the bumpy sketch book, your brain wanders to how calm he looks when the stadium is the loudest and even your heart is pounding. How, last week during the media conference after a game, the sleeves of your S/S line jacket looked, pushed up his forearms as he waved the reporters good-bye from the locker room. How he paired the platform knee-high boots and the slightly cropped leather jacket, all from your F/W line last year, almost perfectly with some ragged jean shorts and the most enticing little striped shirt that did nothing to hide his god-given collarbones that you couldn’t help but imagine on the runway. 

He’s got this way of showing up in your head when you’re just starting to forget he exists. Like now. In the quiet. With the whiskey sitting in the warmth of your stomach and your body wrapped up in your own tired, tangled, teasing thoughts. 

You sigh. 

Your pencil pauses over the page. Your eyes flicker down and you want to almost scream at the sketch that grins up at you. It’s him. Except, not the eyes, nose, mouth, or any of his facial features, actually, but still, him. The way his hair messes up in the front, his silhouette etched so gracefully onto your sketchbook page – the wide shoulders, sloping waistline. 

You curse under your breath. 

Another sip of whiskey that burns down your throat. 

Your phone buzzes against the hardwood desk. 

You ignore it – probably Yena.

Then, it buzzes again. 

You reach over slowly, ready to roll your eyes at Yena’s incessant texts. 

Until you don’t. 

Until you see his name, blinking up at you like the broken streetlight from your not-date-date three weeks ago. 

vernon⚾️🐈 u awake?

You stare at the message. Then at the clock. 

It’s 12:04 AM. 

vernon⚾️🐈 wyd?

you designs 

And then against all notion of rational thought, you snap a photo of your sketchbook. 

[attached]

Vernon responds in seconds. 

vernon⚾️🐈 wait  thats lwk really cool

you nice to know my work is appreciated

vernon⚾️🐈 would u ever design smth for me?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. The whiskey sits too warm in your stomach now. 

you why? u tryna be a fashion icon now/?

vernon⚾️🐈 smth like that j think ur designs look cool

There’s a lull there. You’re not too sure what you’re supposed to respond with. A smiley face? A thank you? A heart? 

Another buzz. 

vernon⚾️🐈 r u still up?

you its been like 5 min yes ofc

vernon⚾️🐈 im at the batting cages

you okay….. and?

vernon⚾️🐈 do u wanna maybe come

You stare at the last message longer than you mean to. The cursor blinks in the text box as your thumb hesitates above the keyboard. 

It’s stupid. 

It’s so stupid. 

So so so stupid. 

It’s past midnight, you’re barely sobering up from the whiskey, you’ve been sitting cross-legged on your studio floor for hours surrounded by scattered swatches, rejected sketches, the remainders of your brain. You should say no. 

You should absolutely completely say no. 

But. 

But the memory of him late at night during the not-date-date still lingers in your mind, cruising around your nerves to send the scent of his cologne down your spine. You can’t mistake the way you wait for his text like a dog for food. It’s pathetic, really. 

And you can’t help it. 

you address??

vernon⚾️🐈 [location shared!]

You’re scrambling now. First for a better shirt – a Ganni one that’s a size too big on you but you refuse to return because it was the last one left in stock in-store. Next for shoes – vintage Nikes that you bargained for in Japan. And then for the smallest purse that fits your wallet, lipstick, and your phone. And your car keys! 

The door slams behind you and you’re in the elevator even before you can fully hear your door lock beep. 

It’s a little past 12:30 AM when you arrive at the batting cages. It was more of a battle trying to find a parking spot than squeezing your Range Rover through the narrow alleyway. The city streets are quiet, though, and the night air is cool against your skin as you step out of the car, the low hum of the city lights and Gangnam in the distance. The flickering lights from the batting cages cast long shadows, their glow almost surreal in the emptiness of the night. 

You take a deep breath, listening to the steady thwack! of baseballs connecting with a bat. 

Vernon’s the only one there. 

He’s caged inside one of the batting cages, bat in hand, duffle bag thrown against the bench. He looks focused as he takes another swing. The Adidas zip-up is loose on him, riding up when he swings, waistband of his boxers showing bolded words: wasted youth. 

His body moves with fluid grace under the bright lights, the way he lines up each shot is almost hypnotic. You pause for a moment, watching him, fingers curled around the openings of the metal cage. Watching him – the way his body shifts, the subtle flex of his arms as the bat connects with the ball, the way he frowns when it doesn’t hit just right. The sound of it is satisfying, the crack echoing in the quiet night air. The zip-up hands from his shoulders, the fabric moving with the flow of his motions and you can barely make out a black undershirt – a tank, probably. 

For a few seconds, you forget why you’re here. Why you’re watching him hit ball after ball, too focused on the bat to realize you’ve arrived. It’s just him, bat in hand, hitting ball after effortless ball – and you admire it: how smooth he looks, how natural it seems, how he seems made for this. 

But then, he falters. 

Notices you standing behind him, eyes training on his body. 

He pauses mid-swing, letting the ball die in the machine. His eyes flick over you quickly – your oversized shirt, your bag that swings from your shoulder, your hair. He doesn’t say anything but his mouth curved up into the smallest of smiles – of smirks?

“You actually came,” he says, voice carrying a playful tone, like he wasn’t entirely sure you would. 

He sets his bat down in the bat rack, the soft clink of the metal against the wood the only sound between you two. 

He wipes his hands against his black sweatpants. 

You roll your eyes, tossing your bag on the bench when he opens the cage door for you. “You texted me in the middle of the night. Worried you were going through a mid-season crisis or something.” You bite the inside of your cheek as you grab a smaller bat that sits next to his now. “You’re lucky I make all my bad decisions after midnight.” 

Vernon chuckles, low and easy. “Nah, not a crisis. Or a bad decision. Just wanted to see if you could make contact after all that high talk.” 

You give him a look, rolling the bat in between your hands. 

He’s tall. Close. Built. His shoulders hide the other cage’s light from hitting your face and he grins down at you like he’s known you for your whole life. 

You shoot him a flat look. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk way too much for someone who’s supposedly nonchalant?”

He just grins, hands in his pockets, shrugging. 

You sigh, moving your hands to the grip of the bat, walking up to where the fake grass turf was the barest. You’re familiar with the weight of a bat. You’ve been a baseball fan, even though Vernon acts like he’s teaching you everything from scratch. 

The machine whirs when Vernon flips a switch, and from the dark hole of the pitching machine, the first pitch comes launching your way. 

You wait. 

Swing. 

Hit. 

Crack!

The ball soars into the net, the thwack! echoing in the empty batting cage. 

It’s quiet for a moment. You think Vernon’s switched the machine off again. Or maybe it’s a lull the universe has granted. 

Vernon lets out a low whistle. “Not bad.” 

You glance over at him, brow raised. “Not bad?” 

He lifts a shoulder, teasing grin. “You could do better.” 

You scoff, turning your attention back to the machine, now whirring back to life, for the next pitch. The rhythm of it is steady. You can understand why Vernon does this. Ball after ball, the occasional miss, the occasional perfect hit. Every crack! thwack! makes you feel like every ounce of stress in your body leaves your pores in spindles of smoke – evaporated. 

Vernon stands in the back, letting you hit and hit and hit. 

Then, after a particularly good hit, he finally speaks again. 

“Here.” 

You barely register him stepping forward, machine turned off now, befor ehe’s suddenly behind you. His presence is like a magnet, pulling you closer as his hands move to adjust your stance. 

And you try to focus – you really, really do – but it’s hard when he’s standing so close to you – chest brushing against your back, warm, solid. 

“Try shifting your stance a little,” he says, voice low. And his hands are moving from his sides to your sides, inching up your waist before you can react. His touch is gentle, fleeting, adjusting your posture with the slightest pressure. His touch is steady, unhurried, but it sends a shock and tingle up your spine anyway. 

You swallow, trying to focus on gripping your bat so that it doesn’t clatter to the floor. “I’m already hitting fine,” you mumble. You’re scared to look up. 

“Could be better,” he retorts, and you don’t have to turn around to know that he’s ear-to-ear grinning. 

His hands move up from your waist to your shoulders. Down your bare arms to rest on top of yours on the grip of the bat. His hands are warm against your skin and you hope to God that he can’t feel the goosebumps that rise with his touch. The pressure of his hand around yours is mind-reeling and his breath is warm near your ear as he murmurs

“Relax this a little. You’re too stiff.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat at the proximity, at the feel of his broad chest pressed against your back as he reaches around. He’s so focused on your swing, helping you improve, but all you can think about is how he feels against you. 

His hands leave yours to your shoulders, gently pressing down. “Relax.” 

“Maybe I like being stiff.” 

Vernon huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sure about that?” 

When he sees your hands tightening against the bat, he puffs out a sigh of air, leaning in again. His cologne is subtle but warm – something clean, fresh, with a hint of pine? Musk? Vanilla? Something that lingers. It mixes in with the scent of your detergent and it’s all you can think of. 

His fingers slide down, adjusting your grip over the bat. His hands are infinitely warmer, covering yours completely, and the way he’s guiding your movement is too natural for your brain to wrap around. You feel your breath get lodged in your throat. You don’t know what’s happening.

His chest is flush agaisnt your back, body pressed against yours, mumbling something into your ear but you can’t bring yourself to comprehend it properly. His hands on your waist, wrist, his height, build, it completely envelops you. The proximity of him makes your pulse race and your lungs tighten and you pray that he can’t feel your beating thumping heart through your wrist pulse point. 

“Better?” he murmurs. 

You try to say yeah, but your voice barely comes out. So you just nod instead. 

You can feel his breath against the back of your neck, and something inside of you screams – in want, desire, guilt, something in between? His hands hesitate for just a fraction of a second – one on your hip, the other on your wrist. 

And you’re not too sure how the next part happens. But somehow, between his fingers brushing against yours and the way he’s angled just slightly towards you, breath hot on your neck, cologne invading your senses with no mercy, you turn your head at the same time he glances down. 

Or maybe he was already looking down. 

His eyes are dark, soft in a way that makes your throat tighten. His lips part, a breath leaving him that you can’t quite make out. It’s not a sigh, not quite a word. It’s something in between, laced with an emotion heavier than the tension that stretches taut between you. You don’t know if he’s waiting for you to pull away, stumble out of his grasp like he’s burned you, or if he’s looking for a sign to make the next move – stoop lower to move forward, not hold back. 

Your heart stutters. 

The moment stretches thin. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then flicker back up to your eyes. They’re hesitant, as if he’s wondering if this is the right thing. 

You swallow. “Vern–”

Your eyes widen in surprise, name cut off before the breath in your lungs even leaves you completely. 

Because he’s leaning down, lips crashing down on yours, slow, deliberate, soft. It’s slow at first, tentative, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. 

You would be crazy to pull away. 

Instead, you melt into it. The bat clatters to the floor with a muted th-th-thack! and on hand goes to tangle in his hair, pulling him down further. The angle is awkward – you’re half-turned around, one arm stretched up to pull him down, one hand resting against his that sits on your waist, lingering. He’s pressed up behind you, chest against your back, slouching down to fully reach your lips. 

And then something clicks. 

You twist to face him fully, hands finding their way to the collar of his jacket, fisting the fabric as you rise on your tip-toes. 

Vernon doesn’t hesitate anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, so slowly that it raises the hair on your skin and sends shivers up your spine as he pulls you in closer, flush against his chest. His other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. Once. Twice. Three times. 

He kisses you like he means it. Like he’s been waiting to do this. 

And you don’t have any more thinking capacity left in you to be embarrassed when you let out a breathy little sound from the back of your throat that sounds a little too much like a whimper, hands finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him down more. Now both of his hands are on your lower back, your waist, grip so firm, so warm, as he pulls you in, lips moving in sync with yours. 

Everything else fades. The far-away sound of the bat hitting the ball, the dying hum of the machine, the soft murmur and chirp of the night – everything becomes – feels – secondary to the feel of his lips on yours. You can taste the faint tang of the lemon electrolyte drink he was drinking on his lips, feel the strength in his arms as they basically hold you up on your tip-toes like he’s not letting you go. 

You break apart. 

You don’t want to. 

But it’s getting harder to hold your breath. 

So you pull back, back down on your feet, breaths coming out heavy, now eye-to-eyes with Vernon’s collarbones. You look up. 

Vernon looks down at you with this expression that you can’t quite place. His pupils are blown wide– dark against his hazel rings – lips parted slightly as he catches his breath. You’re still pressed so close to him that you can feel the heat radiating off him, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You swallow. 

And then Vernon lets out a small little laugh, lips stretching to paint the silliest smile on his face, forehead meeting yours. His big hands are warm and calloused against your flushed cheeks, thumb tracing over your skin. 

His forehead stays pressed to your for just a beat longer. You feel like passing out when he whispers fuck, y/n, under his breath like a secret – barely a whisper, barely above a breath, like saying it any louder might break the moment. 

You’re still catching your breath, dizzy from how fast everything shifted, how the entire world seems to narrow down to just the space between his lips and yours.But when your eyes flutter up to meet his – dark, hooded, unwavering – your breath gets harder to inhale. 

When your gaze drops to his lips again, Vernon moves – pounces, almost. 

He surges forward, lips on yours again. Except, this time, harder – needier. There’s no hesitation now – no caution, no prudence in the way he grips your hips, body moving you – walking you – backwards until you feel your back hit the cold metal of the batting cage. It startles you, eyes fluttering open because when had you gotten this far, and you gasp, the noise stuck in your throat. 

Vernon doesn’t stop. 

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip so carefully, so softly, teasing. Nd when your mouth parts slightly, it’s like something inside of him snaps. 

Suddenly, his head is tilting, hands cupping your jaw as yours scrunch his collar, deepening the kiss – messy and hot – his body caging yours against the cool chain-link fence. 

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but let him devour you. His tongue dances with yours – slides, twists – deliberate and sure. And when your hands move to tangle your fingers through his slightly wavy hair, slowly trailing down to the nape of his neck, clutching like you need him to keep you upright, he groans. Deep and low and rumbling in his chest, eaten up and swallowed by your greedy mouth. 

It’s visceral, the way you grab at each other. The way his body presses into yours and yours against the fence, like he can’t get close enough – like the two of you might combust if even an inch of air dares to exist between you. A ball of heat knots deep in your stomach as his hands roam – one firm against your waist, the other sliding up the curve of your back, underneath your loose shirt, fingers kneading against the flesh. He kisses you like he’s starved. Like every pent-up look and almost-touch finally snapped him clean and the wire-tight tension – now he’s unraveling. 

When his teeth bite down gently against your bottom lip, you whimper. It’s soft, barely even heard because his kisses mute it. But Vernon hears. He curses softly – muffled against your moving lips – as he tilts his head, insistent on coaxing just another sound from your throat. It’s instinct now – how you arch into him, how his hands are strong to support you as you start to get tired of standing on your tip-toes, how your hand slides up into his hair and tugs. 

Vernon groans. It’s louder this time, coupled with a breathy little whine. 

And suddenly, his hands are just lower than your hips, his lips separating from yours for a second to whisper 

“Jump,” against yours

before he’s kissing you again. 

And you do. Jump, that is. 

And when you jump, legs wrapping around his slutty waist, his hands are under your thighs, pressing you firm against the fence. You can’t stop yourself. You’ve already crossed some invisible line, and all that matters to you is him. Vernon Chwe. The way he feels, the way he presses up closer against you, the way he’s just as desperate – maybe even more desperate – for this than you are. 

It helps that you haven’t had any sort of sexual relationship for a year and a half now. 

Now pressed up against the fence, your arms steady around his neck, Vernon’s hands tangle in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss. His hold is firm, possessive, with a hint of softness and tenderness that sends a wave of heat through you. With a gentle tug, he has you looking up at the open night sky. His mouth moves from yours to your neck, lips trailing messy kisses along your skin. It has you letting out soft gasps as his teeth graze your skin, lightly nipping, pressing open-mouthed kisses afterwards to soothe. The sound of your heart is a rhythmic thud in your ear – everything is building, growing, more desperate. Especially as Vernon lightly bites against your ear. 

You can feel the firmness of his chest as it presses against you, breath hot against your skin, and every move he makes – shifting you further up, pressing another kiss, whispering something you definitely do not have the brain capacity for – sends another thrill down your spine.

“Vernon,” you murmur, voice echoing in the empty cages. 

At the call of his name, he pulls away from decorating your neck with the hues of the darker side of the rainbow, looking up at you with dark and hooded eyes. You can almost see the desire swirling through them. But his lips curve into a faint smile. 

“Hm?” 

He gives you a peck on your lips before kissing down your jaw. You swallow, head thrown back still against the fence, body supported by Vernon and Vernon alone. But when you don’t respond right away, he pulls back again, hands moving to hitch you up more securely, fingers brushing your bare waist where your shirt had ridden up during the mess of kisses. When you look down, he’s staring up at you with furrowed, worried brows. 

“‘S this okay?” he asks quietly, voice rough and strained. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, hands moving from his shoulders to brush through his hair shakily. You let out a breath that feels more punched out of you than anything. “Yeah,” you mumble, leaning forward so that your arms drape over his shoulders, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you rest your cheek against your arm. You feel Vernon’s hands tighten around your thighs. 

“You sure?” he asks. You can hear his heartbeat. Almost. 

You nod. “‘M fine. This,” you let out a small laugh, “This is more than fine.” 

Vernon is quiet before he speaks again. And you can’t quite see his face, you can imagine his small smile. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Cool, Cool. That’s – um – that’s fire,” he mumbles. Rambles, actually. 

He’s cute. 

You let out a laugh – a loud one – at that, tapping his arm to signal to let you down.

“Fire? That’s all you have to say to that?” You tease, landing back on the floor with shaky legs, still clinging to Vernon, arms winding around his neck. You stare up at him and he looks down at you like you just dotted stars in the night sky. You’ve never had someone look at you like this. 

His voice is lower when he finally speaks again. “More than fire.” He grins, forehead coming to rest on yours as his arms wind around your waist. “Definitely more than fire.” 

You giggle. It’s weird how quickly he makes you feel like a schoolgirl and not a fully-grown adult with a life outside of swooning over him. But your teeth take your bottom lip prisoner again. “Yeah?” 

Vernon exhales a short breath. “Yeah.” 

When you giggle again, Vernon groans – half in embarrassment, half in he doesn’t know what. “You drive me crazy,” he mumbles under his breath, detaching himself from you with great reluctance. 

When he steps away, letting your arms fall to your sides, you watch as he sets the bats back on the rack, shouldering his duffle, shoving his phone into his pocket. He glances at you, a small smile playing on his lips when you cross your arms, waiting. For what? You’re not too sure yourself. Maybe for him to kiss you again? Maybe for him to lead you out and drop you off at home? You stand there awkwardly now, not quite ready to leave, not quite sure how to stay. You stand there, pretending you don’t wish his lips are back on yours. 

Vernon walks up to you, the swing of his duffle bag lazy, eyes soft but unreadable under the dim lights of the cage. He stops right in front of you, not touching (and good thing because if he did touch you, you wouldn’t be able to let go), but close enough that you can still feel the warmth of his body. 

“You drove here, right?” he asks quietly, glancing back at the nearly empty parking lot behind the fence. 

You nod slowly, your voice soft. “Yeah.” You glance down at your feet, embarrassed now for some weird reason. 

He hesitates, lips parted like there’s something more he wants to say. Then he shifts his weight, eyes flickering from yours to the path out of the cages. “You okay to drive?”

You shrug. “I mean… probably.”

That earns a soft, knowing chuckle from him. “That’s not reassuring.”

You’re still floating a bit. Still warm from his hands on your skin, his mouth on yours, his voice in your ear. Still trying to remember how to stand on your own feet. And Vernon looks unfairly composed in comparison. Like he’s turned the volume down on whatever chaos just happened between you – but it’s still written in his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair, the way he keeps looking at you like you’re a goddamn fever dream.

He steps forward and reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours like you’re dating or something. “C’mon,” he says, tugging gently, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

The night air is cooler outside of the cages. The heat of the moment is behind you as you walk towards your car, parked rather haphazardly by a streetlight, hand-in-hand, Vernon glancing down at you every once-in-a-while. He has this silly little smile plastered on his face that makes you smile too. Makes you smile more. 

When you finally reach your car, Vernon lets go of your hand, stepping around to the passenger side. When he opens the door and peeks in, for a split second, you think he’s about to jump in, drive with you back home. 

But then he pulls back, grinning, shouldering his duffle, hands in his pockets. 

“Messy,” he comments. 

You click your tongue, pulling open the driver’s side, sliding in. Your hands hover near the handle before you grip it. 

You don’t want to say anything else, lest you break the moment – heavy, thick with everything that just happened. 

So, naturally, Vernon does. “You’re okay to drive though?” 

You smile, nodding. “Yeah, I mean, unless you wanna file a police report about a girl you were making out with in the cages.” 

His lips twitch and you know he picked up on your tone. He leans against the driver’s side. “Think it’d hold up in court?” 

You laugh. “Depends. I might argue that you instigated it.” 

Vernon scoffs, one arm on the top of your car. He’s so close again. “Can’t. Won’t hold. I clearly said jump. That’s consent and delegation.” 

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

“Okay, criminal.” 

You both laugh, tension broken, and it feels good. Cathartic, in a way. But overall, good. His smile lingers longer this time, teeth catching on his bottom lip like he’s trying not to say something. Or like he’s trying not to leave. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you back?” he asks. His voice is gentler now. He hesitates before his hand darts out, fingers gently brushing the fallen strands of hair from your face. “I can follow you, even. Just to make sure you get home okay, y’know?” 

Your heart tugs a little. It’s so stupid how sweet he is. Stupid, stupid, and so so so endearing. Even if it sounds just a little bit creepy.

But you smile, grabbing his hand before it gets shoved in the depths of his pockets again. “You tryna be my stalker now?” 

Vernon shrugs, fingers folding over yours sweetly. “Eh. Takes one to know one, right?” And then he smiles – all teeth and boyish with ruffled hair – and it makes you laugh. 

“Are you calling me a stalker?” 

“Nah. You’re my Kiss Cam partner. ‘S a little diff’rent.” A pause. “I’ll still follow you though,” he says, a little quieter now. “Not all the way – just out the lot. Make sure no one’s creeping out here this late.” 

You squint at him dramatically. “Is this your creepy way of saying you want to make sure I don’t crash my car?”

“It’s my gentlemanly way of saying I don’t trust you behind the wheel when your brain’s still halfway up that fence.”

The laugh that is forced out of you is as dramatic as incredulous. “Vernon Chwe!” You blush red under his laughter. 

He watches, one hand still on the frame like he doesn’t want to walk away just yet.

Before he closes the door for you, you glance up and grin. “Hey, if I do crash, just know my ghost is gonna haunt you in a very flirty and inconvenient way.”

Vernon laughs, full and warm this time. “Can’t wait.”

He shuts the door gently, taking a step back. You turn on the engine, stealing one last glance at him through the window, now rolled down. 

He watches you for a second. “Text me when you get home?” His request is quiet, small, almost like he expects you to say no. 

Your foot leaves the gas pedal. 

You look at him. Really look at him. And you know if you don’t kiss him again right now, you’re going to regret it.

You reach out, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket, and you tug him down to you. He doesn’t resist. His lips meet yours again – this time slower, but also faster. A peck. Small, short, and sweet. Just in case you get too addicted too quick. 

When you break apart, he looks dazed. Like you just punched the breath out of him. 

“I’ll text you,” you whisper. 

You steal one last glance at him before rolling up your window.

He waves you off with a crooked grin, walking slowly back to his own car as you back out of the lot. And even in your rearview mirror, you can see him watching, waiting until you’re safely out onto the road.

You pull away, your cheeks still aching from smiling.

Five minutes later, at the first stoplight, your phone buzzes in the holder attached to the AC. 

vernon⚾️🐈 text me back when ur home j so i know ur ghost isnt gonna flirt me into crashing too 

You bite your lip, smile stretching wide and helpless across your face. And you can’t control the incoherent squeal that leaves your lips. 

God, you’re so screwed. 

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

It’s almost 9PM when you get his text. 

vernon⚾️🐈 u @ the studio?

you sadly yes how did u know r u stalking me or smth

vernon⚾️🐈 maybe  i j finished training j checking in

His little typing… bubble doesn’t go away for another couple of seconds and you just know that he probably deleted what he was going to send to you. 

you im j working how was training?

vernon⚾️🐈 the same did u eat?

you …no BUT im fine deadline mode

vernon⚾️🐈 what kind of monster forgets to eat

you a very talented one that also missed her deadline last week? making a masterpiece rn

vernon⚾️🐈 so dramatic

The conversation lulls when he doesn’t send anything for a minute or two. You curl yourself against the armrest of your work chair, sewing and fabric forgotten on your work table. 

vernon⚾️🐈 do u want me to bring u food?

you only if it comes with radish!! this time!!!

You hope the exclamation points hide how red your cheeks are and how your body almost vibrates with nerves – or maybe excitement? – as you reread his text. 

vernon⚾️🐈 u think id mess that up twice?

you call it intuition

vernon⚾️🐈 wow no faith in me

you i have complete faith in ur batting avg j not ur side dish memory

vernon⚾️🐈 cold i hit a homer AND remembered ur drink last time

you ok fine ur batting .500 in food service tbh thats hall of fame numbers

vernon⚾️🐈 lmao im omw w surprise food dont sew ur hand off!!!

you ur coming NOW??!

vernon⚾️🐈 lol yeah unless u dont want me to.. i can hang the food on ur door and go

you u can stay IF ur not annoying

vernon⚾️🐈 roundabout way to tell me to leave..

you no u can stay depending how good the food is

vernon⚾️🐈 depending on how good u look in wtv ur making rn

you bro vernon

vernon⚾️🐈 👀 do u call every guy u make out w “bro”

you omg shut up and hurry up

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

You’re bent over your work table, one knee pressed close to your chest, the other crossed flat against the seat, when you hear the quiet doorbell to your studio echo through the empty rooms. 

In the quiet of the studio, above the city hustle and bustle, the doorbell rings loudly, decrescendoing into a whisper of an intrusion. 

You don’t turn immediately – hands busy pinning fabric on the mannequin in front of you. But you know it’s him. He texted ten minutes ago that he was almost there and knowing Vernon, he probably stood stock-still in front of the door, maybe pacing, trying to psych himself up to press the doorbell and double checking if he was at the right address for five whole minutes. 

“It’s unlocked!” you call, voice only slightly muffled by the pins in your mouth as you (attempt) to thread a thin leather string through the bodice only to have it bunch on one side. You hear the door click open, hinges creaking quietly from down the hall. Soft footsteps that stop right in front of the raised entry-way are followed by a couple of shuffles as he takes off his shoes, sliding into the slippers that you set out an hour before. 

When you finally glance over your shoulder, he’s standing in the middle of the entry hallway with a plastic bag in his hand, a black hoodie half-off, slinging off his shoulder, over an ab-showing workout shirt, and cap flipped backwards. 

A ridiculously loud laugh is torn from the back of your throat and you almost fall off your chair at the way Vernon’s face twists in confusion. 

He lifts a hand. 

“Hey,” he greets, low voice soft in the quiet of the studio, mingling with your playlist playing through the speakers. 

“Hey,” you say. 

His eyes sweep over you, then the chaos you’re sitting in – bolts of fabric stacked and pushed away to the dark corner next to your desk, three sewing machines pushed up against the right wall, your own sewing machine humming with a lazily blinking lights, and unfinished sketches taped to the window in front of your desk, a flood-over from the wall-taped sketches. 

He lifts the bag in his hand with the cutest grin you’ve seen. If you were a weaker woman, you would have blushed. “Saved your life. Again.” 

You roll your eyes, motioning him inside your main studio. “Maybe save the gloat for after I eat.” 

He steps inside, brushing past the hanging yards of tulle that you thought you would use but never ended up actually using so you hung hurriedly on the fabric rack bolted high against the wall. He pads over to you and when he sets the bag down on the nearest slightly-clean table, you can smell the scent of his cologne – clean, vanilla, a little spicy and musky. It’s faint, like he put it on hours ago, but the way it still lingers makes your head hurt because he smells exactly the same from that night. He glances around your studio like he always does when he comes here, like he’s trying to memorize all the new wall-taped sketches and discarded fabric pieces. 

He points to a sketch taped on the window, right above your table. “I like that one. Is it new?” 

You pull your hair back, twisting it up into a bun before clipping it off with a claw clip. “Maybe. It will be if I actually finish it.” 

He looks down at you with his brown eyes that look a little bit darker in the dim lights of the studio. It’s a beat too long. You feel it. Like there’s something unspoken sitting right behind his teeth and he’s not too sure whether he’s allowed to say it or if you would both benefit from him swallowing it down whole. 

You can’t stand his gaze – not if it feels like he can read your mind (even the thoughts that are definitely not suitable). So you open the bag to distract yourself. 

The first thing that greets your hungry eyes is two packets of cellophane-wrapped containers of white radish. 

“Okay,” you hum, unwrapping the cellophane carefully, “you did remember the radish.” You lick a droplet of radish juice off your thumb, glancing at Vernon with a grin. “Color me impressed.” 

He shrugs, sitting on your work bench like he’s done it a hundred times. “What can I say? I’m learning,” he mutters, leaning back on his hands. He watches as you open containers, throwing plastic lids into the large garbage can by your desk. The soft pop! of plastic lids fill the space and you can’t help but push some containers of o-deng and pajeon towards Vernon to let him open those as you crack apart two sets of chopsticks, (un)gracefully moving to the floor. Your chopstick shovels a good chunk of crab meat and egg fried rice even before your crossed legs can touch the hardwood floor. 

It’s quiet, aside from the music in the background and your murmurs of holy shit this is so good in between rapid bites. 

Vernon watches you for a while in silence, legs spread out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. His chopstick is untouched – like he takes more pleasure out of watching you eat than eating it himself. 

“You okay?” he asks eventually, noticing a stall in your hurried shovelling of food. 

You glance up at him from your half-empty fried rice bowl. You blink. “Yeah? Just tired.” 

He nods, eyes dropping to your bare legs tucked under you, the way your quarter-zip dips too low on your chest. He clears his throat and looks away fast – too fast. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, setting the bowl and chopsticks down, studying him in all of his post-training, showered, deliciously-smelling glory. You can’t help but stare – at his face, his arms, his chest, everything. And then at his slightly-drooping eyes and slight dark circles that seem to shadow over more in the dim studio lights. 

“You don’t have to stay,” you say softly, poking his leg. “You probably have practice tomorrow.” 

His response is as immediate as it is confident. “I wanna stay.” It makes you blush – the way he says it like he can’t lie to you even if he tries. 

You hum, legs pulled up to your chest and try not to stare the way his forearm flexes when he runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, now that you focus on it. Maybe he cut it. Or maybe he’s training you for his inevitable decision of buzzing it all (he mentioned it to you in passing once and you had laughed at him). The silence stretches again, comfortable, but pulsing, like something’s about to break through the thick wall. 

Vernon looks away to the side, mouth opening. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he says suddenly, like it somehow fell out. 

Your breath catches. 

He’s looking down at the floor now, jaw tight. His legs move to sit criss-cross, like this is a serious conversation. “Since the cages,” he starts out quiet – more quiet than you’ve ever heard him – “It’s been…” he pauses, “kinda driving me crazy.” 

You swallow down the breath caught in the back of your throat. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says, finally glancing up. If this were any other conversation, you could have giggled over how blushed his cheeks are. “And I didn’t wanna – fuck – I didn’t wanna make it weird, y’ know?” He searches your eyes like it’ll have the words he needs to finish his sentence. “But then you didn’t really text me after – no, like you did but not really – and I thought, I dunno, maybe – maybe – I–”

Before you can even understand what’s going on, you’re on your knees, leaning forward so that you’re staring him in his eyes with some sort of unfamiliar ferocity. 

“You didn’t mess anything up,” you say, hand lingering on his knee. Your quarter-zip falls off your shoulder from the sudden movement. “Vernon, I just didn’t know what to say. Hey, I missed an entire traffic signal because of how good you kissed me seemed a little cliche and stupid.” You crack a grin. 

Vernon lets out a soft laugh, ears tinting pink. When he looks up at you, brows pulled, lips parted like he’s trying to figure out if this is real, it gets harder for you to breathe. A shaky hand goes up to touch his face – fingers brushing his cheek, thumb grazing under his eye, lingers on the sharp cut of his jaw. His fingers curl around the hem of your quarter-zip, pulling you forward, steadying you with firm hands on your thighs when you jerk forward, falling into his lap. 

“Oops,” Vernon murmurs, but the shadow of a smile ghosting his lips gives him away. And it makes your heart beat out through your ribs. 

“You…” you never get to finish that sentence because you find yourself leaning down to kiss him. 

And when your lips meet his, he melts into it. 

It starts slow. Softer than it was the first time. His mouth opens under yours, and he tastes like the strawberry drink he brought for you, like the past week of restraint cracking open. You sink into him, arms circling his shoulders, and he shifts to pull you onto his lap.

Your legs wrap around his waist, and you feel his hands hesitate at your hips. He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low, slightly hoarse.

You nod. “More than sure.”

And then it unravels.

He kisses you like he’s waited years, not days. Like he memorized the shape of your mouth from that night and has been replaying it on loop. Your hoodie is tugged over your head, and his lips trail over every inch of skin he can find. He leaves kisses down your chest, over your ribs, as you unbutton his shirt with fumbling fingers and way too much anticipation.

You're still perched on his lap, his hoodie long gone, your fingers tangled in his hair when he starts kissing down your neck again – open-mouthed, biting. The low hum of the studio surrounds you — the soft buzz of the desk lamp, the rustle of fabric under your knees, the faint warmth from the space heater in the corner.

"Vernon," you whisper.

He groans softly against your collarbone, your name dragging from his lips like a prayer. His hands skim up under your quarter-zip, fingers grazing your sides with a reverence that has your spine curling. His hands inch up, up, up until he meets the softness of your–

“Fuck, no bra?” Vernon groans, hands stilling on your chest. His lips part from your neck for a second. 

You giggle, leaning into his touch. “Maybe I took it off when you said you’ll come,” you whisper into his ear, watching in sinful delight as he blushes at your words, pushing your quarter-zip up until it’s up over your head. When he throws the quarter-zip to some random corner of the studio, he freezes, eyes frozen on the way your nipples harden in the open air, your hair as it runs down your shoulders, hands kneading your tits like they are made for him. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. His mouth goes down before you can even respond with anything, lips circling a nipple as two fingers go to tweak the other one. His tongue is warm against your skin, rolling, lightly biting, sucking. It’s crazy – the way he knows what you want before you even say anything. It drives you absolutely crazy. 

"Wanna taste you," he murmurs, voice low, thick.

Your breath catches. Your eyes meet his. There’s something unshakably tender about the way he’s looking at you — like this has been haunting him. Like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that’ll fill him.

You nod.

That’s all it takes.

His hands are slow, tender, trailing down your sides as he eases you onto your back, bare skin meeting the plush fur of your carpet. A scarf — forgotten on the floor — is swept aside, discarded like all other distractions.

The round carpet you brought home from Taiwan softens the ground beneath his knees. You’d chosen it because it reminded you of moonlight, round and pale and slightly worn. Now it presses into the bones of his legs as he settles between yours like he's found the only place he's ever needed to be.

He leans in close, breath ghosting warm over the sensitive skin of your thighs. And then he begins.

One kiss. 

Then another. 

And another.

Soft at first — reverent, almost — each one carefully placed along the inside of your thigh. His mouth is warm, and his lips linger like he's trying to imprint the shape of you onto himself. He pauses to breathe you in, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his hands smooth up and down your legs. One hand wraps beneath your thigh, thumb rubbing small, grounding circles while the other curls possessively around your hip.

Every kiss climbs higher, closer, and your hands instinctively grip at his hoodie, still bunched around his arms — the fabric wrinkles between your fingers, grounding you while everything else begins to blur. He looks up once, eyes dark and earnest, gaze locking with yours like he’s checking if you're still with him, still his. You nod, a breathless motion, and he smiles — just barely — before ducking his head again.

When his tongue finally finds you, it’s slow — intentionally slow. One long, deliberate lick that makes your breath stutter and your back arch from the couch. His mouth settles against you like a man starved — greedy, hungry, but still worshipful. The way he moves feels like he's memorizing you with every stroke — cataloging the way your thighs tense, how your breath catches, the exact sound you make when he sucks just right.

You whimper his name, and his body reacts — shoulders twitching, hips shifting, a soft gasp breaking against you like he feels it too. His fingers dig into your hips as if anchoring himself, but you can feel the restraint — like he’s holding back from tearing the rest of your clothes off and burying himself inside you.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, desperate, the words barely coherent.

He doesn’t. 

He can’t.

When your thighs start to tremble, he groans — the sound guttural, animal — but he doesn’t slow. His arms tighten around your legs, pulling you in closer, locking you into place like you’re the answer to every prayer he’s never dared to say aloud. Your hands slide into his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp, and his response is immediate: a full-body shiver, a muffled moan into your skin that makes your toes curl.

And when your warning comes — a breathy, broken gasp of please or I’m close, you’re not even sure which — he holds you tighter. He pushes his tongue deeper, faster, more insistent, drinking down every sound you make like he's parched.

You fall apart on his tongue, crying out his name as your whole body tightens, then trembles, then shudders in release. He doesn’t stop. Not right away. He keeps his mouth on you, gentler now, lapping at the aftershocks like he wants to make sure every last wave of pleasure is felt. You twitch beneath him, hypersensitive and dazed, and finally — finally — he pulls back.

His chin is wet, glistening. His lips are pink and swollen, slightly parted like he’s still catching his breath. There’s a dazed, wrecked look in his eyes — the kind of haze that only comes from witnessing something divine.

He blinks up at you like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then, with a hoarse little laugh that barely makes it past his throat, he wipes the back of his hand over his chin and whispers, “You taste like fucking heaven.”

But it’s more than just lust in his eyes.

He looks at you like he’s just been undone. Like your pleasure unstitched something in him he can’t sew back together. And for a long moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is your breathing — still uneven — and the soft rustle of fabric as he leans in, kissing the inside of your thigh again. Slower this time. Calmer. 

Like a benediction.

Like thanks.

You lean up, breathless, cheeks a deep red, tugging him by the collar of his shirt. "Bed," you whisper. "Come here."

His pupils blow wide, as do the rest of his eyes.

You giggle as you grab his hand, scrambling up to your shaky feet, and pull him toward the bedroom — the small tucked-away space past your sewing machine and half-stuffed closet. The lights are soft inside, fairy lights strung in lazy arcs across the ceiling. The bed is already messy, the comforter folded halfway down, pillows too soft to hold structure, the rest of the room packed with machines you don’t need this season and bolts of fabric that didn’t really pass your test. 

He pauses just inside the doorway, hand still in yours, taking it in.

“Holy– the hell?” he mutters.

You blush. “Take your hoodie off.”

He does — slowly, deliberately — and lets it fall to the floor as you sit on the bed, pulling him between your legs. He cups your cheek and kisses you again, deeper now, heavier. And when you lie back on the comforter and he climbs over you, settling into the space between your thighs like he was made for it—it feels like every part of you says finally.

The bed dips under his weight, comforter cool against your back, but the heat radiating from Vernon is all-consuming.

He’s still above you, kissing you like he’s trying to memorize your mouth — hand braced next to your head, the other dragging up your shirt so slowly it’s unbearable. Your skin prickles under his touch, goosebumps chasing every inch he reveals.

"Can I?" he murmurs, thumb brushing just against the waistband of your now-ruined panties. His voice is low, a little wrecked already.

You nod, but your voice is thin. “Fuck, please.”

His eyes hold yours for a moment longer before he pulls your panties down slowly, your legs going up to let him trail his fingers down your bare thighs to throw the panities to a random corner of the room. You reach up, tug at his waistband — a silent demand — and he complies, standing just long enough to strip down to his boxers. When he returns to the bed, all warm skin and toned muscle, you think, this is going to ruin me.

He kisses down your chest, slow, reverent. Your brain is gone in seconds, and then his mouth is on you — warm, wet, tongue swirling in lazy circles that have you arching off the bed. One of his hands grips your waist while the other moves between your legs, pressing over your soaked panties with a hum.

"You're shaking," he whispers.

"You’re taking your time," you shoot back breathlessly.

He chuckles — and then shifts lower. And then… he just looks at you. Drags his hands up your thighs and stares like he’s seen God and she’s spread out on her own damn bed.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You’re beautiful."

You reach for him again, desperate, and he finally gives in, grinding down against your bare core with a low groan. His hips rock once, twice — and you both hiss at the contact. Then he pauses.

“I don’t— I didn’t bring—”

“S’ okay,” you breathe. Your fingers reach for his, eyes never leaving his. “You’re clean, right?” 

He nods almost dumbly, staring at you with toussled hair and parted mouth. 

You gasp in a breath, smiling. “S’ fine, then. I have an IUD.” 

And then it’s like something clicks into place in his brain because his eyes bulge a little as he leans down, biceps shaking, brushing hair out of your face. His next words are almost reverent. “Raw?” 

You hum, kissing his jaw greedily. “Raw,” you whisper teasingly into his ear. 

And then he’s kissing you hard. His hands are a little shaky — not with fear, but with need. Like he’s been dreaming of this for months. Like if he doesn’t get inside you now, he’ll die wanting.

And when he finally does — when he pushes in, slow and careful, your legs wrapping around his waist again — you both go still.

Vernon buries his face in your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers. “You feel— fuck, you feel so good.”

Vernon pauses once he's fully sheathed in you, a low, guttural breath escaping his lips.

"Shit—" he mutters, his voice trembling as his arms brace tightly around you. His forehead presses against yours. "You okay?"

Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your fingers locked at the nape of his neck, body trembling beneath him. It’s a lot. He’s thick and long, stretching you more than you remember, and the sudden fullness has you gasping for air, your walls fluttering around him.

"It’s… it’s been a while," you whisper, biting your bottom lip. "You're just—bigger than I thought."

He groans — actually groans, a sound pulled straight from his chest, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to lose control.

“Fuck—don’t say that. I’m already barely holding it together.”

You laugh breathlessly, cupping his cheek. “You don’t have to move yet. Just stay.”

And he does.

Vernon stays perfectly still, despite the way his hips twitch against yours every few seconds, like his body is begging for friction. One of his hands gently cradles your jaw, the other slips between your bodies to softly stroke your waist, grounding you.

“Just tell me when,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

You focus on breathing, adjusting slowly. He kisses you — slow, deep — his lips pulling moans out of you with nothing but gentleness. And all the while, he whispers against your skin: "You’re doing so good." "I missed you." "You feel unreal."

Your body slowly opens for him, easing into the stretch. The sting dulls into something that makes your toes curl, the kind of pressure that has your thighs trembling with need again.

Finally, you nod, pulling him closer with your legs. “Okay… Move.”

He groans again, this time low and wrecked. He starts to rock his hips, just the smallest roll — and you moan, sharp and high-pitched. His hands tighten on your waist instantly.

“Still good?”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe.

He listens — slow thrusts at first, hips rolling in a deep, steady rhythm that makes your eyes flutter shut. His movements are fluid, controlled, like he’s making love to you with everything he’s held back for months. The stretch is still there, just enough to make every motion feel heady and overwhelming, but now it feels good — so good, it makes you tremble.

Every few strokes, he stops just to kiss you again — like he needs the anchor, or maybe just can’t believe this is real. His mouth trails over your neck, down to your chest, over the curve of your breast.

When he bites gently at your collarbone, you arch, your body clenching around him without warning.

He chokes out a moan.

“Fuck, you keep doing that and I’m not gonna last,” he warns, sweat dampening the strands of hair at his temple.

“You feel—” You gasp when he shifts just right. “—so deep, Nonie.”

Your hands claw at his back, and he picks up the pace just slightly. He’s still holding back — you can feel it, the way his body’s taut above you, trembling like he’s restraining every instinct.

But it doesn’t matter — every slow, deliberate thrust drives you wild.

“Touch yourself f’ me” he murmurs. “Wanna feel you fall ‘part f’ me.”

Your hand slips between your bodies, fingers circling your clit, and the added pressure unravels you. Your moans get louder, body jolting beneath him, and he watches, completely entranced — pupils blown wide, lips parted, sweat glistening across his chest.

Then, you tighten around him again, crying out his name — and he curses, loud, hips stuttering.

“You gonna come?” he pants.

“Close— I’m so close, just—don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He fucks you through it, deeper now, pace unrelenting but still somehow careful — so damn attentive even when he’s right at the edge.

You break first.

The orgasm hits you like a wave — your whole body curling, vision blurring, mouth open in a silent cry. Your thighs clamp around him, and you shake, pulling him down with you.

And that’s all it takes.

He lets go, hips slamming into you one final time, face buried in your neck as he moans your name against your skin. His arms wrap tight around you, holding you as he pulses inside you and white hot fills you, so thick and heavy that when he pulls back just slightly to brush a kiss against your sweaty neck, dribbles of white roll down your thighs and it has you whimpering into Vernon’s shoulder. He’s panting through it like he’s never come that hard in his life.

The room goes quiet — just heavy breathing, soft whimpers, and the distant hum of the fairy lights above.

Vernon doesn’t move for a long time. Just holds you. Kisses your cheek. Your shoulder. Your lips.

When he finally pulls out and lies beside you, you take pride in the way his eyes linger at the mix of cum that you can feel run down your thighs. 

He nuzzles you. “Sorry. Clean you up in a bit, yeah?” 

You just hum, wearily moving to wrap your arms around him, nodding. 

He curls around you instantly, one arm slung over your waist, the other brushing your hair off your face.

You’re both still trembling.

“Was it okay?” he whispers again, quieter now. Almost scared.

You turn your head to look at him. “It was perfect. Worth the wait.”

He exhales, relieved, and buries his face in your neck again — smiling against your skin.

“…You sure it didn’t hurt?”

You snort. “I’m a big girl. I can take some good dick.”

Your pulse speeds up when he laughs loudly.

Your breathing starts to settle before his does.

Vernon’s arm is still around your waist, skin sticky against yours, his chest rising and falling fast as he stares up at the ceiling like he’s trying to replay every second in his head. You can feel the tension still lingering in his muscles — not from arousal anymore, but from something softer. Almost nervous.

You turn your head slightly, your cheek against the curve of his shoulder, and whisper, “You okay?”

He lets out a breath. A beat too long of silence follows.

Then—

“I just… don’t want you to think I came here for that.”

You blink.

When you look up, his face is flushed again — not from sex this time, but embarrassment. His brows are pulled slightly, lips parted like he’s not sure if he should’ve said anything at all.

“I know it was kinda fast. And maybe it doesn’t make sense but—” He pauses. “I like you. I mean, I really like you. And this—tonight—wasn’t about just… getting in your pants.”

You can’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips, even through the exhaustion threading through your bones. If Vernon was any closer, you swear he could hear the way your pulse pounds in your ears from sheer delight. You nudge him gently with your nose, closing your eyes blissfully. “If you were just trying to sleep with me, you wouldn’t have held me like that.”

Vernon goes quiet again. His arms tighten around you just a little.

“…Okay. Good.”

You laugh softly and press a kiss to his chest — right over his heart. It’s racing, still.

He exhales through his nose and shifts onto his side, finally facing you fully. You melt into it without hesitation, curling up instinctively in the circle of his arms as one hand moves to brush your hair back from your forehead.

But now that you’re still — fully come down, the adrenaline gone — the weight of everything else starts creeping in. Your eyelids feel heavy. Your limbs ache in that dull, familiar way that says too many hours, too many nights, too much caffeine, not enough sleep. That and your lower back protests every time you move even a millimetre, which you can probably blame on Vernon.

Vernon notices.

He tilts your chin gently and looks at you closely.

“Hey… when was the last time you properly slept?”

You hesitate. Then mumble, “Don’t ask me that right now.”

He frowns immediately.

“Baby.”

You decide to keep the way you internally scream and your heart races in your chest at the pet name a secret from him forever.

“I didn’t forget or anything,” you lie poorly, burying your face against his collarbone. “I just had deadlines. And fittings. And I didn’t know you were gonna show up and ruin me—”

“Ruin you?” he says with a breathless laugh, even as his hand cups the back of your head. “I wasn’t trying to ruin you.”

“You did,” you murmur, yawning mid-sentence. “But not complaining. Maybe all I needed was to get dicked down to stitch the rest of the sequins on that fucking skirt.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters affectionately, pulling the comforter over your shoulders. “But you hafta sleep.”

You hum softly, letting him shift so he’s slightly propped up, your head resting on his bicep. He runs his fingers down your spine — absent, steady, soothing — and your eyes flutter closed despite yourself.

“I was gonna leave after I dropped off the food,” he suddenly says. “Swear to God. But then you opened the door looking like that and all my good intentions evaporated.”

“Your fault then,” you mumble sleepily. “You seduced me.”

He chokes on a laugh. “I seduced you?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a beat of silence. His hand stills against your back.

“…You really tired?”

You nod, the motion barely there. “So tired.”

He kisses the top of your head and pulls you even closer, like he’s trying to wrap himself around you completely. Your bare legs are tangled, bodies pressed together under the covers. The fairy lights above your head glow softly, the only thing illuminating the room aside from the moonlight slipping through the sheer curtains.

“Whaddaya want in the morning?” he whispers. “Something warm? I’ll order before I leave for training.”

“Training?”

“Yeah. We have morning training for the game tomorrow night.” He pauses. “You coming?”

The slight uncertainty in his voice makes you smile. “‘Course. Wouldn’t miss my boyfriend’s game for the world.”

He laughs again, but this one’s softer, his chin nudging the top of your head. 

“Boyfriend?” he asks, brow raising. 

You nod. “Mhm. Think you deserve a title after dick that good.” 

Vernon lets out a loud laugh that echoes through the room – all high-pitched and throaty. “God.” 

And then he turns quiet. 

“You know,” he murmurs after a few seconds, “this bed’s really small.”

You nod against him. “Told you.”

“And we barely fit.”

“Mhm.”

“…Kinda like it though.”

You peek up at him with one eye, a smirk playing at your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He presses a gentle kiss to your nose. “Means I get to keep you close.”

You nuzzle in again, your heart suddenly too full for your chest. Safe. Sleepy. Wrapped up in the arms of someone who likes you exactly how you are, late nights and all.

“I’m glad you came,” you whisper.

He squeezes your hip. “I’m glad you let me in.”

And then, just before sleep takes you under:

“…You drooled on me a little.”

“Well, you came in me so I think that makes us even,” you retort, already falling asleep, especially with the rhythm of Vernon’s hand patting your back. Before you know it, everything – even Vernon’s soft breaths – goes mute, your body relaxing against Vernon’s firm hold. 

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed, still vaguely warm, congee in the microwave, and a messily-scribbled note on one of your cat post-it notes you keep on your work desk. 

morning babe. i’m off to practice. i know you told me to wake you up but thought you’d appreciate more sleep than a kiss goodbye from me (gave u one tho). i’ll see you later, yeah? call me when you have time. 

- HVC

You press the note close to your chest, eyes welling up in tears that you’re not too sure are from hormones or something else. Your emotional parade is cut short when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. The screen lights up with a name that has you laughing out a watery laugh. 

vernon⚾️🐈 is calling…

: ̗̀➛ ​🇰​​🇮​​🇸​​🇸​ ❜​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇺​​🇵​ @astrobebba ; @ayupfrogg ; @steamyjaehyun @chwenott ; @toplinehyunjin ; @syluslittlecrows ; @itsclda ; @luminouskalopsia ; @kiachiako ; @81evermore ; @daaaph-lol

[crescentfool]

i think something that is important to me to remember is that there are small ways i can do things to spark joy for myself and others without waiting for someone else to do it... (conjures up little sparklies from my hands) life is so whimsical!!!

[star-sim]

"is your girlfriend single?" ☆ enha hyungs

☆ youtuber! non-idol! bf! enhypen hyung line x fem! reader ☆ summary: when your youtuber boyfriend finally shows you for the first time to his audience. ☆ genre: fluff, jealous and whipped boys... kinda dumb lol ☆ warning(s)? no! just fluff!! and attempts at humor :( ☆ reblogs and comments are appreciated :D also not proofread lol

maknae ver.

heeseung ☆

i like to think that hee would be a gaming youtuber

posts maybe like once or twice a week, has about 3 million subs

he sometimes likes to stream, just to get to know his fanbase better and to just hang out

normally he texts you to let you know abt it, but today he totally forgot

you came home from work and you saw his office door closed + heard the sound of his loud ass keyboard clicking.... my guy beats that shit UP atp

that was normal tbh

you were probably like "my little keyboard warrior ❤️" and went to go wash up in your shared bathroom and bedroom

you were going to just pop into his office, say hi and maybe give him a kiss

meanwhile... heeseung is taking a break from gaming, just talking to the chat

he definitely didn't notice you coming home... probably bc of that bigass head set that's creating a fucking valley in his skull... (btw have u seen those videos where gamers take off their headphones and they have a dent on their head 😭)

anyways you open the door, ready to say hi, but heeseung is visibly surprised, looking like a deer in headlights

you look at him, then at the back of his monitor, then back at him, then at his monitor

"should i come back another time...?"

hee's already taking off his headphones, leaning back into his gaming chair--

"no no no!" he grins, glancing at the chat, which is now blowing up

"who is that?"

"yooooo"

"HEESEUNG IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND?"

"gf reveal?"

"she sounds so pretty"

heeseung pats his lap, "cmere, baby, i wanna introduce you to the stream"

of course you comply <3

you take a seat on his lap, his arms slithering around your waist

it takes you a moment to take in what's on his screen: obv there's your reflections, then the chat boxes and announcement pop-ups

the way that the blue-purple light of his screen reflects onto your skin, casting a glassy gleam over your eyes-- and the way that your pretty eyes look at the monitor so curiously, lips parted ever-so-slightly-- made you look SO beautiful

heeseung himself has to angle his head in a way so that he could see your face properly.... and a soft grin unknowingly began to spread over his lips

he presses a soft kiss to the crook behind your ear, before looking back up at the stream

"hey guys," there's a clear smile in his voice, "this is my girlfriend, [name]."

you take that as your queue to introduce yourself

honestly, you're a little shy and softer-spoken now, bc you're not in front of a camera nearly as often as your boyfriend is, "hi.. i'm [name], and... uhm..." you give the webcam a clumsy, awkward (but very cute) smile, "i'm hee's girlfriend"

the chat blows up immediately

"SHE'S SO CUTE"

"i've never seen heeseung look so soft"

"[name] you're so pretty :)"

"this might actually be one of the most beautiful women i've ever seen im not joking guys"

"chat is she real... bc why is she actually GLOWING oh my lord🧎🧎🧎"

those comments make you a lil shy and bashful, and you feel your cheeks kinda warm

you just giggle reading them, unable to contain your smile

heeseung, on the other hand, is feeling prideful

"that's right, guys," he squeezes your waist, puffing his chest out, "my girlfriend is so beautiful" "i know i'm so lucky to have such a wonderful woman as my girlfriend"

he's overjoyed by all the compliments you're getting... it makes him so happy that he can show you off and that everyone gets to see that YOURE his gf

in fact, he's reading a lot of them aloud, and following it up with "i agree with you"

like he'll read "'[name] is absolutely stunning, like wow..." and heeseung nods and is like "i agree with you, xXdragontittysucker23Xx 🤓☝️"

but then a comment stops him in his tracks...

"heeseung is your girlfriend single by any chance?"

his face drops immediately

"hey... who in the chat asked if [name] is single?!"

he's actually offended, putting a dramatic hand on his chest and scoffing

"how rude!" heeseung pouts against your shoulder when even more of his viewers begin saying similar things

"[name] are you free this weekend"

"hi [name] (i'm 6'2 and drive a lamborghini and save orphans every weekend)"

"heeseung get out i'm trying to have a moment with your girlfriend"

you're actually such a cutie, becuase you're just giggling as more and more comments come trying to rizz you up

"what do you have to say for yourself?" heeseung asks you half-sulkily and half-defensive, pushing his face into your neck and pouting

your eyes glimmer with a little mischief, wanting to tease your boyfriend a little bit

"i mean... " you pretend to think

and then someone named jungkooksleftpinkytoe562 says in chat "please [name] i'll rock your world so hard just one chance"

you laugh

"jungkooksleftpinkytoe562, i'm free tomorrow at 5, you should take me out on a date" and you wink playfully and laugh again

chat blows up like

"WOAHHHH"

"AYOOO????"

but if there's anyone that's scandalized, it's heeseung lee himself

"HEY! HEY! WHAT?!!?!" he's squinting and scrolling so fast in the chat to find jungkooksleftpinkytoe562 that you can hear the scroll-wheel oh my god

"you guys better back off," heeseung says, pulling you even closer. he presses a kiss against your shoulder, then gently clutching your face to kiss your chin, "she's mine!"

heeseung's eyes narrow, "especially you, jungkooksleftpinkytoe562..." your bf gives you a quick peck on the lips, "i'll kick your ass if i see you flirting w my girlfriend again >:("

im gonna be fr... none of his viewers care

in fact they keep flirting with you

and the fact that you keep playfully flirting back adds fuel to heeseung's flames

but he'd never blame you <3

he's pouty after the stream lol (but he knows it's all in good fun) so kiss his cute lil pouty lips

i think this definitely goes viral on twitter

like #[name] or #heesgf trends for a good 48 hours

jay ☆

my guy is a cooking channel

i think jay would try to be more private abt his personal life to his viewers, just given the nature of his content

though, it's no secret that jay has a s/o to his viewers, and i think they'd know your name

but yk how at the end of cooking videos, after the chef cooks, they try the food...

i think in a few of his videos, there's clips of you and him trying his food, but while jay is usually in-frame, you're either behind the camera or just barely in the frame so that most people have really only heard your voice and seen your hands

the comments are usually tame, like

"[name]'s voice is so pretty!"

"i want someone to look at me the way jay looks at [name]"

"my parents!"

but one day

for one of his subscriber milestone specials

let's say 2million subscriber special

jay does a cooking challenge

it's "cooking a meal but BLINDFOLDED"

he starts the video explaining the parameters of the challenge and what he's doing, etc

but then he reveals that you're behind the camera to supervise him

obv bc he's in a kitchen with ovens and knives and he's blindfolded...

throughout the video, you kind of just guide your bf

"omg jay move your hand or you'll cut your fingers off!"

"turn on the stove-- no the other way!!"

at some point, jay is cutting up onions

and normally he's a pro at it, and you never question his abilities

but because he can't see and he's using the knife so quickly, you're freaked out like "babe!!!!!! that doesn't seem safe!!! 😰😰😰"

so then behind the camera, you're heard fussing about it and it's cute lol

then you take it upon yourself to help him

you go behind him, slithering your arms around him so that your hands were places on his

you guide his hands to cut the onions slowly

"babe, i got this," jay says, but tbh he's not complaining because he gets to be close to you :D

"nonono i don't want you to die!!" you say, and it seems like you're more concentrated on cutting the onions than him

this is the first time that your face is in-frame for one of his videos lol

when you're done, jay tries to kiss your head, but he can't find you so you raise yourself on your tippy toes for him

its a quick peck but you giggle and place a kiss behind his ear

when he's done cooking his little dish, it's time to garnish and decorate it with sauce

jay's plan is to use the sauce to write "happy 2 million subscribers" on the dish

but because he's blindfolded, the writing is so fucked up

it's completely unintelligable and just a glob of sauce 😭

and then he tries to draw a dick on it but it's also super fucked 😭😭😭😭

when you see this, you burst out laughing so hard

and this makes jay laugh too

anyways the video goes up, it's very cute and well-received

now.... the youtube comments are still tame

"[name]'s laugh is so cute!"

"i screamed when she popped into frame... she's gorg"

"the way that [name] looks at jay when he's blindfolded is everything"

"[name] looks so beautiful"

but uh

it gets crazy on twitter

as it always does

"jesus fucking christ if a woman like that wrapped her arms around me and kissed me i would fall to my knees and die happily"

"jay CANNOT handle allat.... but i can!!!! me next!!"

"god... when is it my turn to have a pretty woman kiss me"

"[name] i'll treat you so well PLEASE"

i think the clip of you helping jay cut the onions kinda goes viral, just because you look so attractive doing it

like the way you popped into frame as you rolled up your sleeves and the way you smirked at jay's inability to see... ZOOWEE MAMA!!!!!

and i think this eventually makes its way onto tiktok

like pretty standard videos of ppl being like "JAY'S GIRLFRIEND HELLO???" with comments like "she's so beautiful," etc

jay honestly thinks its funny

he knows that people are joking and he sometimes actually plays along with them

he loves that people are appreciating your beauty (but he loves even more that he's the only one that actually gets you)

when you first go viral, you're kinda shy about it, but jay just pulls you close, kisses your cheek, squishing them, and says "my baby is so beautiful"

youre like "jayyyyyy stoopppp"

he only chuckles and starts to pepper your face with more kisses, despite your lil whines for him to stop

but then while you two are cuddling one night, you laying on his chest with your face in his neck

a tiktok appears on his fyp

its just some teenager being like "hi does anyone know if jay's girlfriend is single?" while showing off a black BMW in the background... and then jay's directly tagged in it

he takes this as his opportunity to strike back

he stitches that tiktok, and makes his own tiktok in response

it's just a really short video where jay shows you all snuggled up against him completely silent before he just says "No, she is not single. 😐."

the caption's like "i'm taking [name] out on a date tomorrow shhh don't tell her"

everyone thinks it's really sweet tbh

jake ☆

truthfully i think jake would be into youtube commentary

something like danny gonzalez or jarvis johnson

he looks at troom troom videos and makes fun of them lowk 😭

speaking of, troom troom or troom troom - adjacent content usually has crazy ass lifehacks

so for one of his videos jake is testing out troom troom life hacks

and for one of them, he has to drill a hole in a skateboard or something and put pasta noodles in it idk i'm pulling this out of my ass but its not surprising if this is a legitimate troom troom life hack

unlike heeseung and jay, jake's viewerbase doesn't rlly know about you

again, given the nature of his content, jake never rlly found it necessary to mention his personal relationships

anyways jake is in the middle of your living room floor drilling a hole into a skateboard and putting spaghettie in it when you come home from work and see that shit

jake is in the middle of talking to the camera but the moment the door cracks open he trails off

he gives you that smile-- the one that a puppy gives when their owner catches them doing something they shouldnt aw

when you take in the sight before you, you let out a laugh, not noticing the camera rolling

you place your things down and slink toward your boyfriend

"what's going on here, jakey?" you ask him with a cocked brow, loving the way he chuckles nervously

you crouch down beside him, poking the skateboard-spaghetti abomination with your foot

"i'm testing out troom troom life hacks" he sounds defeated lol

anyways you give him a kiss on his cheek and leave him to his own devices

in the final video, your little interruption is only like 15 seconds bc jake cut it down-- but he def keeps the part where you kiss him

HOWEVER.

because jake's audience didn't know he had a girlfriend

they were all like WOAH WHO IS THAT GORGEOUS WOMAN

a few of his fans look at who he's following on instagram, and they find your account

your ig is public, but it's definitely small and personal

they find pictures of you and jake doing cute couple things, a lot of mirror selfies, matching costumes, and cute pictures that you take of jake

but...

they also find your own personal pictures

ones of you in a bikini at the beach, ones of you with the golden sun on your face, ones showing off your outfit and hair, ones of you in the morning, ones of you being a baddie

and lets not mention jake in the ig comment sections hyping you up like a teenage boy like "YOURE SO HOT [NAME] 🔥🔥🔥🔥"

jake and you see all the comments and tweets about you

so jake decides to take it upon himself to clarify everything

he posts a picture on instagram of you and him with the caption "yes, that's my girlfriend"

safe to say that it becomes his top post LMAOAAO

his ig comments are flooded with support

"you guys are so cute"

"i'm glad to see jake have someone that he loves"

etc

YOUR ig comment section on the other hand?

flooded with support

and thirst

HELP

his fans are respectful but they REALLY love to compliment you

"woahhh you look so good in this one!"

"gorgeous 😍"

"[name] will you marry me?"

but i do think a few are outright insane omg

"[name] you're my sunshine in the ran, the tylenol when i'm in pain, when it's burning hot on summer days you're exactly what i need"

i think they pull out poetic shit omg

like shit like

"the memory of you is a tapestry I had decided to wrap myself in until it suffocated me, to such extent that in the morning, people will not find my body, but a new silhouette woven within its threads"

"there is a city in my heart where you are its only population"

"if i could remake universe, i would replace you as the moon amongst the stars after your time, so i may gaze upon you every night"

jake is NEVER escaping

you appreciate the hype

but jakey?

he loves that you're being appreciate but YOU'RE HIS

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHY DO THEY THINK THEY HAVE A CHANCE W U

"jakey they're just being nice"

"no they're trying to STEAL YOU"

like a day later he posts a picture of you on his instagram with the caption "she's mine btw"

his comments DO NOT CARE 😭😭😭

when someone comments

"jake is your gf single and can i take her out on a date"

jake straight up responds

"NO."

what a cutie

sunghoon ☆

i actually don't think sunghoon would be a YOUTUBER youtuber

instead i think he'd be a famous ice skater, but he has YOUTUBE interviews and is active on social media

definitely the type of athlete that's very personable

like sunghoon is def in touch with his fanbase and interacts with them on twt and stuff

his fanbase knows that he has a gf, but that's basically the limit

anyways sunghoon is doing one of those "WIRED answered the web's most searched questions"

you're actually in the studio with him during the interview, kinda there for support

the questions are tame like

"sunghoon park height" "sunghoon park winter olympics 2018" "where was sunghoon park born" etc

sunghoon's killing it

until one of the last questions on the board is "does sunghoon park have a girlfriend?"

he immediately lights up

"i do have a girlfriend!" he says, looking off-set at you, "her name's [name] and she's the most beautiful woman i've ever met"

you chuckle quietly at his comment, flashing him a pretty smile

sunghoon continues- "she's actually here with me today" and he points to you, making the cameraman pan over to you, who is sitting off the set

you just give the camera a thumbs up

you thought that would be the end, but sunghoon asks, "baby, do you want to do this interview with me?"

ofc you agree

he makes u sit on his lap lol even when the camera crew is bringing another chair for you

instead of answer more questions sunghoon just talks about your relationship the entire time

he's giving an entire history lecture about your relationship

you don't say much, but you listen to him intently

when this interview goes up

a lot of his fans make edits of it

sunghoon is already known as a quiet typa guy, but when he talks for like 2 minutes straight about your relationship everyones like "oh god this guy really likes his girlfriend 😭"

in fact

the official interview cuts down sunghoon's tangent about you to 2 minutes, when the original clip was actually 10 minutes

i like to believe that WIRED released an uncut version of his tangent 😭

his fans make short edit videos like "sunghoon being whipped for [name]" or "sunghoon really likes his gf"

i think his fans also make edits of YOU

even though you're honestly in a very short clip of his interview

the way you look at him and listen so intently is SO GOOD

like you were definitely giving him 'the look' as he talked abt your relationship yk?

that once-over, maybe a little lip bite, MMMMM SO GOOD

now....

ik i said that heeseung was the keyboard warrior but like... i think sunghoon is the real one

he's out here fighting BATTLES with his keyboard oml

when stan twitter sees this.... sunghoon starts to fight them

there's tweets like

"the more i listen to sunghoon talk about his gf i more i feel like i'm falling for her"

"the woman that you are, [name]..."

"when she looks at the camera i feel shy"

"omg SHE WANTS ME"

sunghoon gets petty OH MY GOD

he responds to all the tweets about you

like

"she does not want you 😐." "you have no chance with her. 😐." "too bad she's mine 😇"

it's def in a playful joking way and it's really funny, but sunghoon is out here defending your honor

i think at some point sunghoon stops responding with words and just begins responding with pictures

someone tweets "sunghoon is your gf single"

and he straight up just responds with a picture of him staring blankly at the camera

LIKE HE'S DRILLING HOLES THROUGH THE CAMERA WITH HIS EYES

an absolute cutie if i do say so myself

on valentines day he posts a picture of him holding your hand to be extra petty lol

maknae ver.

[clutchpowers]

2024 coming to an end means that my personal 10th anniversary is also coming to a close... sad! i didn't draw as much (or at all) as i wanted but one thing i did wanna post was this! the 100 faces of a character challenge!!!!! though i guess its more of an art progression thing. from my very first fan art to the most recent its been a journey that makes me feel things....... and if you care to read a ramble thats under the read more but TLDR waah waaah *water shoots out of my eyes* i love this game so much and ty to everyones whos stuck around!!!!!!!! :'^)

man. idk i know i kinda went on a similar rant last year during the games 10th so hopefully this wont be too long but if you told me that 10 years ago i would have become OBSESSED with this stupid ass game id probably believe it. man tlm just came out and it was my THING i was getting back into clutch powers too so. i always like to joke that one way or another i would have been dragged into the hell that this game took me down into. but something about this year being my personal 10th!!! idk!!!! i had time to reflect on my entire journey that lead me here. all the stupid AUs and fanfics and shit i dont post/talk about and keep to myself vs the things i do end up putting out there. i dont joke when i say im obsessed they really did infect my every thought, action, being, personality, ALL OF IT. which is why it makes me sad that i could do everything i wanted for reasons both in and out of my control. and it sucks cus i love this game so much, i love THEM so much. i dont know where id be without them, they and the game makes me so happy in ways sometimes you wouldnt believe. i love that more has come out about the game and its slowly but surely broken apart, i love collecting my pieces of merchandise that i bet some people dont even know EXISTED, i love setting up my yearly displays with them, i love that i have a laptop strong enough that can run the game and i can play it again if i wanted to! even if all i ever draw is chase and natalia know that i truly do love EVERYTHING about this game. im always planing but never drawing. so many ideas in the backburner that id love to put out but i dont feel like im there yet to make it perfect. these pieces/ideas can and WILL come out tho, sadly not durring the year of my 10th but who knows what the freaking future holds.... and you know, i was rambling earlier when i was putting this together that i remembered everything about these drawings, where i was in life, what i was thinking/doing etc. etc. its this time capsule that special to me and my journey. from someone who hated all their art and would constantly delete it to someone who went digging for as much as i could so that someday in the future id have something to really look back on and see the passage of time (aw man) right in front of me. im super happy i did. so many memories of me being online and losing my damn mind, walking/talking in circles about the same thing, hoping and wishing something new would happen with them. some of my friends have seen the spiral since day ONE and i think thats funny. cus it really has been that long hasn't it.

anyway, thank you everyone! from people who followed me back when i was 1980-somethingspaceguy/my old DAs to this account, from the drawing that i made to celebrate the remaster being announced to the lead up of the 10th anniversary. from all the posts in between, and the 5th-10th anniversary posts. the redraws, the asks, the friends, the lurkers, the enjoyers. fans old and new of this game, whether you gave it a try because of me or you didn't. thanks for sticking around! heres to another 10 years! if Tt still wont do anything in the next 10 years then i'll still be here making Something.

as a little bonus, heres a piece from every* year! dont give up and keep drawing everyone!!!!!!! :'^)))))))

[janetbrown711]

Proud of Your Boy

Glass Shard || Vehicular accident || “Watch out!”

MK's missed one too many classes at his fancy schmancy school and now has to tell Pigsy he's at risk of expulsion.

However, MK would literally rather do anything-- anything other than tell him. Even if it means delivering noodles in rain so thick he can barely see.

This will work out just fine.

Ao3 Link

Pouring rain fell outside of Pigsy’s Noodles, setting a dreary mood for the already dreary teen pacing up and down the back alley. He was late for work, just as he’d been late for school, and late to wake up– all of which he had no good reason for.

He knew he should go inside, that his boss didn’t appreciate tardiness, but he couldn’t– he just couldn’t because sitting heavy in his front backpack pocket was a letter from MK’s principal, explaining that he’d missed roughly the maximum amount of classes for the year and was at risk of expulsion.

MK hated himself and his chronic lateness– it wasn’t that he was completely ditching classes most times, his trigonometry teacher just had it out for him, he swore. Though, it wasn’t like his other teachers were great either and sometimes MK felt like he’d sooner die than step inside those awful classrooms. Plus, it wasn't like Jian and his other classmates created a "welcoming environment".

Still, MK knew it was only a matter of time til he had to face the music– and turns out it just had to be today.

MK sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go into Pigsy’s restaurant and announce that all of the years of hard work making sure MK got into the same good and fancy school as Mei was for nothing, and MK had completely thrown it away because of stupid anxieties. He was sixteen, man– he should be over this.

But at the same time, Pigsy would be upset if he was late for work too. It was a lose-lose situation; MK was destined to get a scolding, but the question would be if it was about being late or about making him break his back with extra hours of work for years for nothing.

MK sighed, a particularly large drop of rain landing on his head and dripping to his forehead, which he quickly brushed away. He didn’t have time for this. He just needed to get in there and start delivering so he could avoid conflict with Pigsy for as long as humanly possible.

Taking a deep breath, the kid walked in, quickly slumping his soaked backpack onto the back office countertop, only getting more annoyed when he noticed there was a hole in the side, meaning one of his expensive textbooks was probably damaged by the rain too.

He was just on a roll today, wasn’t he?

“Put on your game face, MK, just get through today,” He muttered to himself in the reflection of the computer screen, noticing how disheveled his hair looked and the heavy bags under his eyes. He practiced a wide grin two to three times before he dared emerge and make his presence known with a quick, "Hey Pigsy."

"There you are, kid. You're twenty minutes late," Pigsy looked at the clock while frying shrimp.

"Y-yeah, I know– the rain delayed the bus," He lied. "Any orders yet?"

“Just one I’m wrappin’ up now," His boss informed, so MK took a seat at the bar, his legs bouncing the second they were at rest.

The kid glanced around the restaurant and noticed the stool next to him was empty. "Where's Tang?"

"Sick. At some point he's gonna order his usual for delivery online, but he isn't gonna pay, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask ‘im anyways," Pigsy rubbed his forehead a little with a sigh.

Great, Pigsy was already having a bad day and MK was just going to make it worse. What fun.

“School okay?” Pigsy asked, adding the final touches to the bowl.

“S’whatever,” He mumbled, messing with a scratch on the counter.

“If you make that scratch worse you’re payin’ for repairs,” Pigsy smirked a little.

“I’m not making it worse,” He stuck his hands in his pockets, cursing the fact Pigsy had eyes on the back of his head.

His boss got back to work with a laugh, and MK just sat and waited until he was done cooking and bagging it all up.

However, when Pigsy actually saw MK he paused.

“You… uh… doin’ okay..?” He looked him up and down.

“Like I said, the rain delayed the bus, can I take the stupid order now?” He rolled his eyes.

Pigsy frowned. “If the bus got delayed then it might not be best–”

“Pigsy, I’ll be fine, okay? The order was already made anyway, so let’s just take the money and that’ll be that,” MK snapped, surprising himself and the chef.

The chef shook his head and sighed. “Fine– just be safe, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” MK rolled his eyes, snatching the bag and heading out, hearing Pigsy sigh right as he passed the bamboo flap.

Once he was out and by the dinky little excuse of a delivery cart, he cursed the fact that it didn’t have walls or doors, but he was the one who built it so that was also his fault. Well, at least there was a see through rain tarp thing– he just had to roll it down– and try to avoid the massive pool of water it collected, of which he completely forgot about this time and was soaked even worse in seconds.

What a fabulous day this was, truly.

Grumbling to himself, he placed the order next to him in the passenger seat, buckling it tight before pulling up the address on his phone and heading out.

Traffic was annoying and the wind and rain made it even more annoying, as the lack of doors made for a very cold, wet, and anxious MK. It also didn’t help that his windshield wipers were powered by mere thoughts and prayers, so did very little to clear his vision. At the very least he still had his headphones, but being soaked and practically blind canceled out any benefits they would’ve brought.

But it was still better than telling Pigsy he was getting expelled, so MK drove on.

He managed to deliver the noodles in fifteen minutes and received no tip, which was– whatever at this point. What was one more sign he was a total failure anyways?

When he got back in the cart, Pigsy had texted him saying two orders were waiting, and Mei texted asking to call, so he quickly dialed her number.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy~ how goes my favorite delivery boy?” His friend sang out.

“I hate the rain,” MK muttered, waiting to be allowed out of his parking spot but car after car kept passing him.

“Aw, is Mr. Piggy still making you work with the weather like this?” Mei sympathized.

“No, I asked to. I don’t know why, I really hate this,” He sighed, seeing a chance and going for it– cringing when a car honked at him.

“You know, I told you getting a motorcycle would’ve been better but nooOOoo~ you need a cart,” She teased.

“Oh, please, this thing holds a lot more meals than any motorcycle could,” MK rolled his eyes and joined the main road.

“Motorcycle would get you there faster,” Mei pointed out smugly.

“Pigsy says those things are death traps, you know,” MK countered.

“And that dingy little cart isn’t?”

“I take offense to that.”

“I’m not wrong~”

“You know, if you wanted to call just so you could bully me, just take a number because I deal with that enough already,” MK huffed, checking his blind spot and switching lanes.

“Ugh, are those boys still being punks to you?” Mei voiced her disapproval.

MK snorted. “You thought they ever stopped?”

“Look, if you want me to beat them up, all you have to do is say the word.”

“Funny, but I’m in trouble enough as is,” MK rolled his eyes.

Just then his phone beeped and there was a call notification from Pigsy.

“What’s that sound?” Mei asked.

MK sighed. “Pigsy’s calling, though I don’t know why– unless the customer I just dropped off already called to complain, which is… ugh.”

“Oh, are you gonna pick it up?” His friend asked.

MK bit his cheek. “Nah, I’m not too far, it’ll be fine.”

“Oooooo~ boss man’s gonna be mad~” Mei teased again.

“Do you want me to hang up on you? Because I can,” MK smirked.

“No! Pleaseeeee don’t hang up– I don’t wanna do my homeworkkkkkk,” Mei groaned and her voice became muffled, probably from her slamming her face into a pillow.

“Yeah, well, at least your homework isn’t telling your d– boss you’ve made him waste thousands of dollars for some hoity-toity school that’s kicking you out before you can even finish your third year,” He complained, turning right and Pigsy’s icon disappeared.

“What? Why?”

MK internally face palmed.

In his stupidity, MK forgot Mei went to his school too and would obviously be stressed at the news of his imminent expulsion.

“Nothing, I–” MK tried waving off, when a truck kicked up a huge amount of water right in front of him, causing water to soak his feet and ankles right where the tarp didn’t reach the floor. “I hate the rain, did I tell you that?”

“MK, what do you mean they’re gonna kick you out? Isn’t there something you can do?” he heard Mei sit up.

MK sighed. “Look– I really don’t want to talk about it, okay? So either hang up or talk about something else.”

“... I can see if my parents can do something? Like– give the school some more money? Sweet talk teachers? Anything, really,” Mei offered.

“Not in the mood, Mei,” he warned, making a right turn.

“Right, right, okay,” His friend sighed, and he heard her flop back on her bed.

There was a bit of silence, in which Pigsy called again, but MK just ignored it.

“Jeez, he doesn’t normally call when you’re driving, does he?” Mei asked.

MK shrugged. “Not really, but he’s probably just being a worry wart because of the rain, or–”

MK’s eyes widened and his stomach sank.

“Or what?” Mei asked.

“I-I– um…” MK hit ‘decline’ on his phone. “Nothing, hopefully– I-I–”

“Shit, is he mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” MK glanced at his phone and saw a text from Pigsy he didn’t read.

“Maybe you’re right and he’s just worried; that sounds like him,” Mei suggested again, and MK shook his head.

“I’m not far from the restaurant, maybe if I’m quick I can just pick up the orders and be in-and-out of there,” MK tried to plan.

“You think he found out about the expulsion?” Mei asked the question he dreaded.

“He’s totally gonna kill me,” MK lamented, pulling up to a red light before slamming his head against the steering wheel.

“He’s not gonna kill you– yell at you, maybe, but Pigsy wouldn’t kill you,” Mei emphasized but all MK heard was “blah blah he’s gonna kill you blah”.

Eventually, MK was greeted by the familiar sights of the restaurant and pulled back into his parking spot, which was where he noticed Pigsy… smoking.

“I gotta go Mei,” MK said, heart and stomach full of dread.

“We can video chat later if you need, MK,” Mei offered.

“Yeah, I–… we’ll see,” MK chewed his cheek.

“Talk later?” Mei asked again.

“Yeah, talk to you later,” MK hesitated over the red button, but Mei hung up instead.

MK glanced back at his boss, who wasn’t looking at the cart at all, his eyes towards the road with a distant stare.

MK took a deep breath, put the vehicle into park, turned it off, and got out. “Pigsy–”

“What’re these absences about, MK?” His boss looked at him, already holding the letter in his hand.

“How did you find that?” MK tried to dodge.

“Backpack had a hole in it and I decided to inspect it to see if I could fix it. Now answer my question,” Pigsy huffed, eyes firm.

“I-I– I know it’s bad– I know–”

“MK, you’re such a smart kid– so much smarter than me. Why would you do this?” Pigsy interrupted.

“I-I didn’t mean to-! I just–... you know it’s hard waking up on time,” MK put his hands in his pockets and went under the little ramada to protect himself from the rain, though stayed as far away as possible from the chef.

“How do you ‘accidentally’ skip nine entire classes, MK?! These aren’t late marks, they’re absences,” Pigsy pointed out, before taking a step back and smoking more. “I– I don’t get it.”

MK winced. “I-I–”

“You begged me to go to this school, MK. I have poured thousands and thousands of yuan– I just– why?” Pigsy looked at him all heartbroken and confused.

“I-I know you did, D– Pigsy, a-and I know– I know it’s expensive, I-I just–” MK started rubbing his arms anxiously and glancing at the door to the restaurant.

“Then why, MK? Why are you skipping classes?” He pressed.

Because he was a stupid and dumb idiot coward who didn’t want to deal with a few mean looks and would rather make his poor guardian spend a stupid, stupid amount of money for classes he didn’t feel like going to, that’s why.

“I-I… I don’t know–”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Pigsy huffed.

“I– look, can I just deliver the orders to get this over with?” MK switched subjects, not waiting for permission before going inside.

“MK, you aren’t going anywhere until I get some answers for why I’m even paying for that school–!” Pigsy urged, following him in, cigarette still in hand.

“You know quitting smoking is supposed to be a permanent thing, right?” MK bit back, picking up the orders.

Pigsy stepped back, looking hurt by the low blow before he shook his head. “MK, this isn’t about me– it’s about you.”

MK tried not to care, using Pigsy’s somewhat fallen demeanor to get past him and back into the cart.

“MK–! Where on earth do you think you’re going?!” The chef fixed himself and followed him.

“To make my stupid deliveries and get out of your stupid hair!” MK shouted, struggling to turn the vehicle on when thunder suddenly boomed.

“MK, get back inside, we are not done talking about this,” Pigsy demanded.

“W-well I am! So– yeah!” MK got the ignition to start and shifted the gear into drive without buckling his seatbelt.

“MK!”

MK ignored him, barely looking before turning the vehicle out of his spot and turning onto the main road. Of course, he didn’t have the addresses plugged in so he’d have to do that while driving, which wasn’t smart and–

“MK– WATCH OUT–!” Pigsy shouted at the top of his lungs, and before MK could even turn to look, a car crashed into the side front of the cart, causing it to go airborne before landing on its side. Since MK wasn’t buckled in the slightest, he took the fall hard, hitting his head against the ground twice, and he cried out in pain as something hit his foot. He also had a sharp, sharp pain in his side, and was surrounded by broken glass and other fun rubble.

MK groaned at his stupidity and tried sitting up, but every inch of his body screamed that it was a bad idea. He tried just looking around, but his vision was fuzzy. He tried listening to his surroundings, but that was all muffled too– the shouting, the talking, the horns, the honking, the rainfall– all of it.

Great. Just great. Real smart, MK. Get yourself killed over skipping a few classes. Way to make Pigsy proud of you.

“MK?! MK–!” Pigsy’s voice broke above the ringing. MK tried to see where he was, but that was a mistake if there ever was one.

He heard shuffling and whispers and talking and shouting when a hand touched his shoulder, making him flinch– which made the rest of his body move and thus made him cry out in pain.

“Kid–! Oh, kid– you’re gonna be okay, o-okay? I-I’m right here– Didja hit your head–? What am I sayin’, of course you did– I won’t let you sleep, okay?” He heard his guardian say, and MK wanted to say something, but thinking just of words made him groan.

“I-I know kid, I know, it’s okay, I’m here for you kid,” Pigsy’s voice cracked– which was unusual. “Wh-where does it hurt? I-I know in your head, I know, I know, but where else, okay?”

MK tried very hard to concentrate, eventually sputtering out a, “P–pi–” before the pain in his side was too much and he instinctively curled himself a little tighter.

“Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m right here kid– where does it–” Pigsy gasped, apparently noticing something. He felt his guardian’s hands near where the pain was stemming, but they didn’t dare touch him, and after a beat, he called out, “S-someone– a-anyone– call 1-2-0– please-!”

There was more muffled talking but all MK could hear was the sound of his ill-tempered guardian sobbing openly.

He then felt a soft hand touch his soaking wet hair, stroking it somewhat as Pigsy whispered, “it’s okay MK, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, it’s okay–” over and over and over again. MK tried saying anything to make his guardian feel better, but could only cough and cry and groan from the all consuming misery before sirens wailed.

He heard Pigsy tell the EMT’s things before there was organized counting and suddenly his right foot was freed– though obviously still hurt like a motherfucker. He was still in agony when they put him on a stretcher and took him inside an ambulance, but at least he could see Pigsy now, who sat next to him, still stroking his hair as lightly as physically possible.

“You’re okay, MK, you’re okay– I-I’m so sorry for yellin’ at you, I’m so sorry,” his guardian continued to cry, making MK just feel even worse somehow as they drove away from the scene.

When they got to the hospital, Pigsy was pulled away from him, which MK knew because his crying and protesting faded.

The second his guardian was out of earshot, MK’s tears went from pain to sadness.

Soon after, he was taken to a room, where he was given an oxygen mask and pumped full of drugs as doctors and nurses pulled out a massive glass shard that had been lodged into his side. After that, he was given stitches and a handful of weird pills before being taken in and out of rooms with all sorts of scanners and weird machines, all while he barely maintained consciousness.

After about three scans, MK was taken to an average and empty looking room, where he was given yet another handful of mysterious pills he didn’t question. He was hooked up to a heart and oxygen monitor, as well as a new IV and a few weird stickers they placed on his head before he was out like a light.

.o0o.

MK awoke feeling like his mouth was full of cotton, and the rest of his head was full of lead. His chest and sides felt numb from where he vaguely recalled there had been stitches, and his right foot was in a cast he didn’t remember getting.

As he slowly cracked open his eyes, MK was met with a hellish cold light that only added to the misery of the beeps and boops of the machines around him. But that soon didn’t matter at all, as MK saw his guardian pacing the foot of his bed, dark circles under his eyes that were still red and tear-stained from–

From him.

He had actually made Pigsy, the hot-headed chef of pure titanium, shed real tears over him that fell and everything.

It made MK cry too.

“P-P-Pigsy–” MK croaked, hot tears streaming down his face, making the chef stop in his tracks and rush to MK’s side, which was when MK noticed how bloodstained his chef's shirt and tank top were.

“Kid–! Oh I’m so glad you’re okay– I-I’m so sorry for yellin’ at you, okay? I-I was just– I don’t know what’s wrong with me– you feelin’ okay? You’re safe now, you’re at the hospital,” The chef stroked his cheek again and MK leaned into it this time since it didn’t hurt that much and he could.

“P-Pigsy, ‘m so s-s-sorry,” He cried, his whole chest shaking.

“No– no, MK, don’t be, it’s okay, I-I was so stupid– I should’ve handled it all differently– it’s not your fault, okay?” Pigsy wiped away his tears with calloused hands.

“I shouldn’ve skipped class, ‘m sorry,” the boy just continued to weep.

“I’m not mad MK, I promise I’m not– I-I’m so sorry,” Pigsy now held the boy’s face with both hands and MK was just overwhelmed by how warm they were and how he never wanted to leave his da– Pigsy’s embrace.

“M’sorry Pigsy– m’ so, so sorry,” He nuzzled Pigsy’s hands a little and the chef laughed weakly.

“You’re such a good kid, MK, I know you’re sorry, it’s okay, I’m not mad, I’m not,” The chef smiled warmly and wiped away some of the boy’s tears.

MK smiled weakly, though continued to cry, which Pigsy let him, which was… nice. It was so, so nice. It was so nice in fact, that it briefly made MK consider getting himself almost killed more often, but he’d never do that to Pigsy and Mei.

Unfortunately, the nice moment could only last a minute or two before a doctor suddenly came in. Both quickly wiped their faces and tried their best to pay attention to the medical mumbo jumbo.

It was a long winding conversation MK knew he should’ve paid attention to, but he was still absolutely exhausted and his head was filled with emotions and worries and aches and drugs– and also annoyance at the monitors and an obnoxiously loud AC unit.

At least Pigsy seemed to be taking note, nodding seriously and answering questions while MK was too busy looking at the shapes in the ceiling and a painting of a tree on the wall.

When the doctor left Pigsy sighed and wiped his face again, despite there being no tears to wipe away, but of course MK didn’t blame him and wouldn't dream of pointing it out.

“Kid, I-I’m–... I’m gonna ask you about the absences, is that okay?” The chef looked at him hesitantly.

MK sucked in a breath but nodded.

“So… I-I–... why? What’s going on..?” Pigsy looked at him for only a second before looking at the painting. “You’re so smart, MK. You don’t pull the same shit I used to do on the regular– and I keep trying to figure it out– a-and why you’d be so– so scared to tell me that you go out and nearly get yourself ki–...”

Pigsy choked on his words and clenched his eyes shut before desperately blinking away tears and taking a shaky breath.

“I just… a-am… Did I-I…? Are…?”

Pigsy took another breath.

“Are you… afraid of me?”

MK’s eyes widened. “N-no! No, never! I-I just– I– didn’t want to disappoint you, o-or let you know I’ve been wasting your money, which I know you work so, so hard for, a-and I don’t wanna seem ungrateful because I’m not! I-I’m so grateful, Pigsy– I-I–”

“Hey, hey, take it easy kid, it’s okay,” Pigsy looked relieved as he wiped away another one of MK’s tears.

“I-I’m just– I’m so sorry– e-even I don’t always know why I skip class. It's just– it’s like no matter what I do, I just can’t step in– but that’s only happened five times! The other times’re just because my trig teacher doesn’t let students be late, I swear! I-I don’t like wasting your money, Pigsy, I really, really don’t,” MK shook his head and covered his face, which made Pigsy pull him into a nice and warm side hug.

“What do you mean you ‘can’t step in’?” He asked softly.

MK shrugged weakly, leaning into the embrace a little more. “I-I don’t know… Sometimes it just– it feels like I can’t– like there’s a wall and if I pass it I’ll like… die or something. I know it sounds stupid, I know b-but– yeah…” he looked away in shame.

“Classmates bein’ dicks too?” His guardian guessed.

MK hesitated, but nodded.

“It’s okay kid, I know a thing or two about teachers n’ classmates bein’ dicks,” He rubbed MK’s arm and rested his head carefully atop his. “You’re a good kid, MK. You’re so grateful too– it’s almost concernin’ for a kid your age to be so aware,” his guardian tried to joke, but MK could hear the sadness.

“Still… m’sorry,” MK sniffled.

“Ah, it’s okay, kid, we’ll get this sorted out; I’ll send an email to that principal askin’ to switch trig teachers or somethin’, or try to deal with any punk kids– see if there’s a deal we can work out,” Pigsy chuckled tiredly.

MK nodded, but didn’t dare move from his guardian’s warm and protective embrace. To his relief, the chef didn’t seem keen on breaking it up either.

But after a while, MK couldn’t help but ask, “A-are you… disappointed in me?”

“What? ‘Course not, kid– if anything I’m disappointed in m–that– uh– that staff at your school. I pay ‘em how much a year and they don’t even take proper attendance? What a joke,” Pigsy forced a laugh.

MK looked down at his hospital blanket. “I-I was just– I was so scared you’d hate me o-or something and I-I just–”

Pigsy straightened up and forced MK to look at him and his deep, soft eyes.

“MK, you’ll always have your ol’ Pigsy, alright? I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

MK nodded hesitantly and his guardian hugged him once again.

“Good… because– because I really mean it, there’s nothing you could do to make me hate or leave you.”

MK laughed weakly. “I know, Pigsy, I know.”

“Good,” Pigsy laughed a little too, squeezing him a little tighter before slowly letting go and fixing up the boy’s appearance– or what could be fixed of it anyways. “Are you feelin’ any better, kid? I know I should’ve asked that before but–”

“Yeah, much better,” MK chuckled, before a thought came to mind. “Is– um… Is my phone still in one piece? And do you have it? I think Mei probably thinks I’m dead so I should probably text her.”

“Oh, right, yeah– you kids and your phones,” Pigsy joked, fishing it out of his pocket and handing it to the teen, who instantly opened it and saw a myriad of texts from Mei.

4:15 You talk to Pigsy yet? 4:17: I’m going to take your silence as a no 4:20: Are you done yet? 4:22: MKKKKK are you doneeeeeee? 4:45: MK you’re making me actually consider doing my homework plz respond 😩 4:50: Did he kill you? If he did sorry I instilled false hope. In my defense, you didn’t seem like you believed it. 4:52: Okay I’m concerned fr fr– text meeeeeee 4:56: Damn you two must either be having a heart-to-heart or he’s ending your whole career– if so BIG oof 4:56: Praying for you 🙏 5:00: You done yet? 5:02: Is your phone on silent bc damn you aren’t even reading these– and here I thought we were friends smh 😔😔😔💔💔💔 5:13: DUDE there was a crash outside Pigsys Noodles! Did you see it?!! Call me!!!!! 5:15: MK WERE YOU THE GUY WHO CRASHED TEXT ME RIGHT NOW 5:16: MK you better be alive or so help me buddha I will motorcycle to your apartment so fast and kill you myself 5:17: OKAY i didn’t mean that, plz be alive I’ll be so nice if you’re alive 5:20: MKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK 5:25: Call me as soon as you can, okay? I’m worried over here 9:37: My parents took my phone but gave it back now bc I did my homework but you didn’t call so ig we can both be mad at each other 10:42: If this is revenge for Kim, you’re gay and that was middle school, I thought you got over that 11:01: /j 11:04: /lh /ily 💚 2:42: I really, really hope you’re okay… 💚💚💚

“Yeesh, you kids really do text a lot,” Pigsy eyed all the messages.

“It’s how she shows love,” MK laughed a little, and shot a quick text:

4:01 “Not dead 👍 in hospital”

He waited only two seconds before his phone flooded with more texts from his friend, none of which he read, just typing:

4:02 “Go to bed. I’ll call when I have the energy. Ily 💛”

The barrage stopped, and Mei sent back:

4:02 “Fineeeeeeeee, ily2 or whatever 🙄💚”

MK hearted the message and chuckled.

“You two need better sleep schedules,” Pigsy pointed out, shaking his head.

“Bah, I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” MK repeated one of his guardian’s favorite mantras.

“Har-har, I see how it is,” The pig demon rolled his eyes and MK laughed.

“Had to,” He grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Pigsy ruffled his hair lightly before fixing it again.

MK chuckled. “How’s Tang doing? You call him at all?”

Pigsy half-shrugged. “Yeah– he was real bummed about not getting his noodles, but I talked sense into ‘im eventually,” the demon snorted. “He hopes you’re okay and get better soon.”

“Good, good,” MK nodded to himself, before glancing at his boss. “You– uh– gonna check up on him soon..?”

Pigsy laughed. “That big baby just has a cold, he’ll be fine if I stick around with you,” he assured him, though raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh well– um–” MK didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know– I’m just– I’m glad you’re here, Pigsy,” he smiled weakly.

“I’m glad I’m here too, kid– I… I care a lot about you, you know that?” the chef asked nervously.

MK nodded with a weak smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Pigsy smiled with a soft hum, before he suddenly wrapped MK in another side hug and MK snuggled back up to him as best he could.

He knew it was stupid, that Pigsy was just his boss, but moments like these made MK feel like maybe in a different universe, Pigsy could be his dad, and that he’d stroke his hair and call him “son” and instead of saying “I care about you”, they could say “I love you”.

But that wasn’t what they had– MK was just his “ward” and employee, and Pigsy was just his legal guardian and boss, nothing more, nothing less.

But for now, MK could pretend and just be happy feeling safe and warm in his guardian’s arms without a care in the world– and a part of him could think that maybe– just maybe– Pigsy felt the exact same way…

Well, it was a nice fantasy no matter what, and he’d be fast asleep in the matter of minutes, snug as a bug in a rug in his guardian’s arms, feeling as though everything was right with the world for once in his chaotic young life.

[psyf0rk]

im curious about the fandom video essay one bc for me, ive always viewed it as: aa gets ports. like a lot of them. as such, aa is way more accessible to play compared to layton, where youre either stuck with watching an old playthrough of the games, or trying to 1) get a 3ds if you dont have one, and 2) buying the games (which can sometimes be very expensive). plus, people probably vibe with the mystery solving aspect of one or the other differently. i’ve honestly been begging for pl ports for years, and not just for switch. but i think layton is definitely something thats like. a series that ppl look fondly back on. which is why you see so many people be excited when new world of steam was first announced.

anyway sorry for putting all this in your inbox it’s just been my biggest complaint for yrs that layton has not been ported over yet and the one game thats on switch kinda did poorly. i would love for the fandom to grow

HII !! firstly thank you so much for asking !! im really glad to know this sorta thing doesnt just bug me ,, and secondly i apologise for answering so late ,, i was travelling all day yesterday 😭😭

YEAH!! Ports was going to be one of my points that id put in the video if i were to make it ,,

I completely agree with your point , Ive already heard people say the 3ds is a “dead console” (and yeah it is i just cant accept it ) ((LMAO)) ,, making it inaccessible to SO many people ,, when they could have found out about it . Like , layton still has the potential to bring in new fans , Im an example of that ,, lost future captured my heart and bought every game like a week later ; The games themselves are masterpeices , and more people deserve to know about them.

Secondly yeah ,I know people may be used to the mystery solving aspect of one or the other ,, but thats another problem anyway I think the main glue that layton has is its story tbh (less so with prequel trilogy but thats another point )

They could port the first trilogy really nicely (like they did with aa1-3) and brand it as a mystery game could THE POTENTIAL IS THERE. !!!!. And id people probably dont look back on it fondly im so sad :( Theyre amazing games but idk i didnt play them in layton prime 😭😭🙏

Also ports not just for switch YES !!! Reiterating what you said ; Theyre only playable on decaying consoles , and the gaming industry is changing , level 5 should adapt to this and not stay stuck in the past !! If people stumble across layton and decide to look into it ,, it would be better for it just to be at least on steam r smth ,, so they can acc play it cause playthroughs are awful . Like can you imagine curious village with polished sprites ??? dude that would be so good .

And yeah !! lets hope NWOS revives layton ,, from what is seems it looks really polished but they were 3 games late to what AA did well ,, give a new protagonist focus . NWOS (from what ive seen) will center more around luke ,, which is what the prequel trilogy should have done . (AA made their second trilogy center around apollo, )

and dang it i rambled slighty off topic mb

😭😭

[leejenowrld]

i'm back with my thoughts! though they're a little messy

i wasnt the biggest fan of coach suh sending jeno to yn when he felt like jeno was falling apart. just seemed like coach suh was really objectifying yn...as if she exists just to help someone out of their rut. :(

idk if im missing something but towards the end it felt like yn wasnt trying very hard to hide from taeyong?

i really enjoyed and appreciated that little career progression update for hyuck! (as in him getting all that scoop from yn)

would we be able to get a little more insight into what really went down with jeno and yn when they were apart? i know you wrote time skips so everything's very brief, and simply because of the nature of time skips there's a lot of missing information...would love to read more about what actually happened

i would also be devastated if they dont end up together...😭

hiiii gonna respond to them one by one

1. "i wasnt the biggest fan of coach suh sending jeno to yn when he felt like jeno was falling apart. just seemed like coach suh was really objectifying yn...as if she exists just to help someone out of their rut :("

i completely see where you’re coming from, and it’s a very fair point to raise but it’s not meant to be like that. in fact, it’s quite the opposite. coach suh knows y/n’s strength, not just as someone jeno physically craves, but someone who’s always been mentally grounding, he knows she’s a breath of fresh air. this isn’t a coach suh x y/n fic so i couldn’t go into it much but he did see her personal side and realised how pure and good her intentions and heart was. it wasn’t about objectifying her or using her like a cure-all for jeno’s struggles. coach suh is a man of instincts, someone who sees the emotional battlefield as clearly as the physical one, and he recognised that jeno was only spiralling due to mark suddenly entering his life and perceiving him as someone wanting to take everything from him. he sends him to her because he knows jeno will listen to her, he trusts her impact, her influence, her mind — not just her body. and importantly, y/n herself would never allow herself to be reduced to something shallow or transactional. she’s not passive in this dynamic. she performs for herself first and foremost, she commands the space, and she always holds power over what she gives and to whom. coach suh knew that too. he knew she would do whatever she chose, on her terms, and she chose to meet jeno in that moment, it was y/n who led him backstage and it wasn’t out of obligation, but because she is someone who leads with her own will. that’s why the scene works: it’s not about a man sending her to heal another man, it’s about trusting the one person strong enough to meet jeno where he is and make him face himself.

2. "idk if im missing something but towards the end it felt like yn wasnt trying very hard to hide from taeyong?"

if you read closely, you’ll catch that mark tells y/n to fight back in this chapter, against taeyong, and that thread carries straight into this moment. she’s exhausted, yes, mentally and emotionally drained, but she’s not defeated. at this point, y/n is so done with the cat-and-mouse game, with playing small just to survive under taeyong’s eye. there’s a weariness in her, but there’s also defiance, she doesn’t want to keep hiding, because hiding only gives taeyong more power. so when she knows, when she feels that taeyong has already figured out where she’s heading, she almost leans into it deliberately. her mindset becomes: if he’s going to see me with jeno anyway, then let him. this is her quiet rebellion. instead of slipping away in the shadows, she steps right into the open. she doesn’t announce it, she doesn’t scream it, but she stops concealing herself. it’s her way of saying: you don’t control me anymore. even if her body is tired, her spirit is still resisting. and y/n, as you’ll come to see, is someone who will always resist — sometimes loudly, sometimes in quiet, powerful ways like this.

3. "would we be able to get a little more insight into what really went down with jeno and yn when they were apart? i know you wrote time skips so everything's very brief, and simply because of the nature of time skips there's a lot of missing information...would love to read more about what actually happened."

the way i’m writing back to you, it’s designed for this. it might feel like there’s a lot of missing information in those skips, but that “missing information” is the story. it’s not something to gloss over or leave blank. the time jump is actually just a structural tool to open the door to the next arc of the story, which is the post-college era. you’re meant to feel that gap, you’re meant to ache for the answers because i’ll be unfolding all of it in the next chapters. think of parts 1–7 as your college arc, and now we’re stepping into the real storm: career development, personal evolution, character revelations, relationship breakdowns and rebuilds, everything you’re curious about with jeno and y/n will be revealed piece by piece. why they fell apart, if they survive it, what they did in the years apart, all of it. you’ll get it all, i promise. this was always the plan — to use the time skip as a way to show you they’re older, sharper, and life has happened hard in between. you’ll see it, you’ll feel it, and you’ll live it through the next chapters. that was the entire point.

4. "the time jumps were very brief as that was the point…"

the brevity was deliberate. parts 1–7 were always intended to cover just the college era. originally, the fic was meant to end at their breakup, a clean cut at the end of college. but then i felt like it was almost too clean, too incomplete and unrealistic as it was leading up to them trying to give it a go. plus i wanted to uniquely showcase that the fic would have a time jump. their story isn’t just about college heartbreak. it’s about what comes after, about how you live with your decisions, about how time changes people but doesn’t always heal them. that’s why i added the time jumps. they act as foreshadowing but also escalation. i kept it brief in part seven because i didn’t want to rush you through those years mechanically (plus i had no word count lol). i want to unpack them properly in the post-college chapters. you’ll see those exact scenes again later, but with full depth, context, and weight. all i wanted to do was give you brief flashes of the future to make you question: how did they get here? how did this happen? and then slowly pulling you through the answers so every revelation lands harder. you’re meant to feel the ache of time passing and the suspense of what the fuck happened to them? because i’m going to give you every answer, with full care and depth.

[tappioca]

haha thanks for the reply :) the main reason i decided to ask you is actually bc of anam cara btw, i was just like "damn the author of anam cara thinks like this??? but then writes anam cara? smth doesnt add up here 🤔". glad to know this is the same person LOL anyway yeah i have been with anam cara for 20.3(?) chapters now and a couple days ago i think i just made the biggest decision in my fiction reading career and that is to drop it (omg how insane is that that im publicly announcing to the author that ey yo im not reading yo fic no more lolll but i've decided to send you an ask so here we are)

you wrote absolutely beautiful and the seccs sometimes hit so hard but at one point i think it's too heavy of a story for me :'( i love long fics but this one is just too heavy on the infidelity that my conservative little brain just cant take it. and i dont mean leon and ash cheating on other ppl with eachother, but leon and ash cheating on eachother with other ppl. obviously that's not true bc they arent in a relationship, but for a leshley fic where it's expected for them to be with one another, i didnt expect to read that during times when they dont do it, they do it with other ppl. and then ash also dates/sleeps with other ppl while she's doing it with leon and when he's celibate, like ughhh it physically pains me 😭😭

but yeah that is my personal feeling and preference while reading fics; i just dont want to know that my favs are getting it from other ppl, im not interested to hear their past and especially not interested in knowing that they still do it in the present. when i read smth i just want the focus to be on them, bc consuming fiction is about comfort and that is what brings me comfort.

a long ask (a long confession more like) but im glad i could be honest and upfront with you. im still super in love with ur art bc like i said i like it when the focus is on them and GODDAMN does your art do that with those preggo ashley pieces uwuu 😚 see you on twitter ♥️ (but you wont know who i am haha 😈)

hewwo again haha thank u for ur honesty :^) first off thank u for reading that thing like at all 😭 😭 also if i sound self-slammy when describing that thing over the course of this answer just know it’s bc talking about that thing elicits in me a certain kind of visceral reaction. makes me really self-conscious 😭 i call it “AC, my son, whom i hate” / flaming horseshit / word vomit brain baby. love that thing though tho

special spot @ the “damn the author of anam cara thinks like this??? but then writes anam cara? smth doesnt add up here 🤔” remark, made me laugh hahahaha ikr!!

anyway hey ME TOO 🤝 my ass hella conservative as well! oh boy you have no idea. every chapter is about 30% pushing through religious guilt aside from going against the common sense of "what decent person would do this". tell you what though, tbh it’s also why it’s in the direction it is taking now: so anyone who’s been made uncomfortable by the entire premise (myself included) and has stuck with the thing would think “ohhh so we weren’t just fucking around…we’re also finding out 🤔”

additionally, though a bit off-tangent but if this helps substantiate the reason why it's "heavy"- everyone i knew who told me they read that thing was only either rooting for them or could only see a make/break dichotomy. whole time i’ve been sitting with the Secret Third Thing which was playing the long game (read: reckoning, among other things. lmao). it’s also why there are bits and pieces of how their respective lines of work have affected the fate of the world in there. ashley’s research, her NGO successfully getting reparations for the relatives of those who were zombified in raccoon city, united nations mention in ch. 21… and on leon's side of things, DSO and BSAA "harmonizing", some throwaway lines about biowarfare in asia, etc. … plot backdrop elements i hope i can write neatly in the ending bc part of the reason why they've been tweaking for 200k+ words is bc of the world they live in. obviously these last few are headcanons and how i’d wish capcom could give cohesion to the overarching world-building. i just care a lot i'm sorry ngahhhh 😭

also re: preference. oh absolutely! i respect it ✊ we consume fanfiction for comfort, not for additional stress. life is already painful enough haha! (just that i wanted that thing to be character-driven that's why they be making "tf is u doing girl??" kinda choices. in my head, them normalizing that they could just sleep with other ppl while being in that godforsaken situationship was also their way of minimizing the gravity of how down bad and doomed they actually are.)

also about the “cheating on each other” thing — i hear ya. though on my end it’s more of.. hmm how to say. you ever read gabriel garcia marquez’s love in the time of cholera? basically it’s a story of two lovers who met when they were young but the woman gets married to someone else for like ~50 years. the whole time the dude sleeps with many (MANY) women but his heart is reserved only for fermina daza (the female mc). i lowkey paid homage to that book when ashley said to leon in ch. 14 “i came, but not in the way that it mattered” (not gonna include the context, this answer is taking too long already) hehe does that make sense

imma Be Real talking abt that fic is lowkey embarrassing ‘cause the way it’s so elaborate you’d think it’s a book 😭 cringe 😭😭 but also like. i gotta answer too as best and honestly as i can in courtesy to you 😭

but all in all thank youuu for just rolling with whatever nonsense i decide to make. oh best believe the art are gonna be weshwii-centric ('cause drawing takes more time to lay out); it's just in the writing that i decide to put them through the worst hehe + i hope my answers here made sense 😭

very much thank for the generous compliments, so kind of you! and if you ever feel like picking it up again you’ll know where to find it anyway :^) have a good one & take care & see youuu on twitter!

[skyburger]

LOVE when people reblog things but say in the tags like they disagree with the main point of it or "um op is wrong actuwlly" cause idk if its just how i personally see tumblr tags working but thats like. why did you re-share a post to your followers if you dont like or agree with it at all and you didnt even add commentary on it. Like why would u reblog a post saying "i hope u mean the opposite of this actually..??" no thats not what op meant hello. i havent seen anyone do this recently but i just remembered people do this and its a little funny to me like why would u do that.

Anyway unrelated but this is my official announcement statement whatever (most important of all time):

Just because i reblog a picture of some food does not mean i actually like the ingredients or the dish. sometimes i think it looks good until i read that they put fucking lavender or some shit in a cake. why would uou do that i dont want to eat lavender i dont really want to smell it most of the time but even if it was mt fave smell ever why would i want to eat that. hello? and also sometimes im like i know i would hate that hut it looks really pretty. Anyway this is my PSA:

Please do not assume i like such heinous foods as "mint" "peanut butter" or "asparagus" because i do not. sometimes i will reblog food becaus it looks nice and i do not endorse these ingreidents going in my tummy they are NOT yummy. to me.

i dont knwo why i would reblog asparagus because that Looks gross too tbh but. u know what i mean hipefully i got my point across

peace and love. here is an image i saved from cropped mgs memes on twitter when i scrolled through their entire account again the other day. i miss you twitter user bigbossbigmemes. i showed my mom some of them because i accidentiwlly said "i cannot believe i am living in a world"

↑ i cannot believe i am living in a world

and her favorite of the ones i sent her was this one

share if you dont think!

unrelated i asked my mom if she "kinned" big boss once as a joke like three years ago and i dont think she remembers this at all but i still think about it sorry to my mom. she said something like "yeah sure because he looks like a warrior and im strong too" which fair enouhh i just dont think she knows about the war crimes. i dont think she knows what kinning is either i dont remmeber how i explained it to her but i bet it was poorly. if she was big boss and me andnmy siblings were the shit twins + ex-president george sears i would be liquid snake my sister would be solid snake and my little brother would be solidus snake its important to me that you all know this. i havent actuwlly thought about thet in a while but its true to me ok.

unrelated: someone remind me to post a picture of my metal gear shower curtain at some point. idk if i ever shared it but its pretty awesome.

but thatse just abtheory. a game theory!!'matpat out!

[exocbxmp3]

for those who've been following me for a while & all my beloved moots, just wanted to announce that bébé turned ONE yesterday. absolutely wild!! just like that my lil scrunchie 7.2 lb potato is a talking, dancing, nearly walking lil person. she's smart and also silly and amazes me every day! although she’s technically a toddler now, she’ll always be bébé to me.

someone told me when she was born that "the days are long, but the years are short" and it's so true. and bittersweet 🤧 I love love love seeing bébé change and grow and figure out her way around this big world. but I also wish I could go back in time and hold her at one day old again. and one month old. two months. so on & so forth. but I also know one day I’ll look back and think she was so impossibly small now too, so I’m enjoying the moments as they happen.

becoming a mom was truly the best thing that ever happened to me. some days are HARD, sure, but it’s all so worth it and I’d do it 10000 times over again. plus I’m such a ✨cool mom✨ like I’m still a pro gamer (sucks @ video games but plays them p much every day) and I do super glam makeup looks even if im just going to dunkin & the dollar store and I still get to watch anime and listen to the same songs from 2010-15 over and over again. basically what im saying is I didn’t lose myself! I still do everything I enjoy just sometimes with my lil buddy too or not as often because im doing other fun things instead like doing the elmo slide with bébé !!

anyway I didn’t mean for this to be so long but. yeah, what a year! can’t wait for the next one. and to tell bébé she’s the prettiest girlie on earth and so smart and so talented and give her a billion kisses every single day. my moon and stars, truly.

[shuastar]

KISS 'ER UP (HVC) - pt. 2 excerpt

pairing: baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader wc: ... warnings: nothing (my procrastination) a/n: hi!! erm so part 2 is taking longer than i thought because i refuse to work properly ig... so im taking it up for myself to post the first excerpt of part 2 and I PROMISE PART 2 WILL BE UP BY THE END OF THIS WEEK.

anyways thank u always for reading <3 taglist form here!!

In 3 weeks, you go to 6 home games. 

Which, in retrospect, is absolutely crazy because that’s averaging two (2!) games per week in the brunt of design finalizing and fashion week scrapbooking and planning with your team. 

And now, the one you’re sitting at seems to up your count from six to seven games in 3 weeks. Which means that your assistant will be calling you sometime next week asking if you ever finished finalizing the fashion week scrapbooks and tulle selections (only one of which you’ve actually finished. The other…. Well, let’s just say that it won’t be seeing the light of day for a while). Which also is part of your explanation to why you are busy multitasking between texting Yena, your assistant, on the last flap stitches for your fold-over bag for the F/W collection, gluing pieces of fabric and drawing cut-outs and print outs and colors down onto your scrapbook, and watching the actual baseball game and participating in half-assed and quarter-minded fanchants that seem to have no soul in it. 

All in that exact order. 

And it’s even harder to balance (especially your phone that teeters precariously off your knee because your actual table is too full of food, beer, and your scrapbooking trash pile) when your phone chimes with a familiar notification. 

new message from vernon⚾️🐈

You almost choke on your beer that was travelling half-way down your esophagus, coughing violently and trying not to get drops of Cass onto your scrapbook. 

For the first time in almost fifteen minutes, you raise your head, swiveling to try and see where the hell Vernon is texting you from because not only is it the middle of the seventh inning but it’s also the middle of his game. 

And he never goes on his phone during games. 

vernon⚾️🐈 yo u see that last play?

You roll your eyes at his text. Yo? Really? But also, typical Vernon. Almost three months – texting, calling, showing up to games, post-game chicken runs, and the occasional late-night movie theater run at Coex – made you accustomed to his rather nonchalant way of saying hi. Those including (but definitely not limited to) yo, hey, bro, dude, whats up, lol, and show cat now as in your actual feline pet, not your pussy (which you thought at first was what he was implying and almost blocked him before he clarified with a photo of his own cat that you were too scared to open for the first three minutes, thinking it was an unsolicited dick pic). 

You pause before you reply, placing the glue stick down. 

you yea obv

It’s a lie. A blatant one at that. But you feel bad telling Vernon hahaha no lol was too busy working on my pfw scrapbooking and model calls to be focused on ur game im at. 

So yeah. You lie.

But Vernon texts back in record time. 

vernon⚾️🐈 no u werent

You roll your eyes. 

you i was watching

vernon⚾️🐈 liar!! too busy lookin down @ ur sketches to watch me hit that ball outta da stadiummmm

you ur such a child and literally lying

vernon⚾️🐈 no im not but u wouldnt know bc ur too busy

you i have pfw stuff to sort out sue me

vernon⚾️🐈 ah so u admit that u werent paying attention

You don’t get a chance to reply before the speakers above your head crackle to life, stadium static breaking over the announcer’s booming voice:

“Now up to bat, our very own number twelve, VERNON CHWE!” 

All of the vowels in his name are stretched way too long but most of the call of his name is drowned in the thundering cheers and applause of the Diamonds fans crowding up the stadium. 

You jolt at the sudden screams, blinking up from your stupid silly grin at your phone. 

And just like that, the messages stop. 

: ̗̀➛ ​🇰​​🇮​​🇸​​🇸​ ❜​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇺​​🇵​ @astrobebba ; @ayupfrogg ; @steamyjaehyun @chwenott ; @toplinehyunjin ; @syluslittlecrows ; @itsclda ; @luminouskalopsia ; @kiachiako ; @81evermore

[marvelatthismess]

Buckle in, this is a long one

Unpopular opinion but I hate character reworks

Redesigns? Ehh its 50/50 as long as its cosmetic

But full reworks that change the fundamentals and play style of a character? I hate it

This isn't my autism hating change either, i don't mind changes when they're done right but im yet to see a character rework done right

We'll take Revenant for example, I never played him myself but I've played alongside a lot of Revenants, his changes not only shook up the feel of the game for those playing him but those playing with him - which i know was the point but his kit no longer works with the kits of other characters, its become selfish (some might call mirage's kit selfish too BUT mirage's whole thing is using decoys of himself to distract from his teammates, to put himself under fire while his teammates heal/reposition) in a way that makes him better at lasting solo than in a team

And with conduit's release, revenant feels like playing alongside a more expensive conduit, his ult feels like her tact but with a longer cooldown and less utility (his tact feels like a knock off of vantage's too but you didn't hear that from me)

I get that it had lore significance but they didn't need to change his kit to portray that significance, a visual redesign and a few kit tweaks could've done that. Ash has had 4 different bodies (human, titanfall2, arenas announcer (legacy launch trailer, for non arenas players that don't know what version of her this is), apex games) yet when you look back she still feels the same all the way through and you can see similarities between Reid at the beginning and Ash as she stands now; Revenant hasn't kept that individually, he has the same voice and colour scheme but past that? He has the feel of other legends, he doesn't feel like Revenant anymore

And maybe that's the point, to disconnect him from himself, but it just doesn't work. I've run into far less Rev players now than I used to, roughly 1/5 of my games used to be with a Rev on my team and now I sometimes go a whole day without seeing one as a teammate; by disconnecting him from himself for the sake of a plot line, it's disconnected him from players that can no longer enjoy his play style

Anyway- that was a whole ass rant, closing note:

If respawn rework Ash or Horizon, I will riot

[cyberdragoninfinity]

I would love to hear your Indigo Disk thoughts

YES!!!!!!! 💎🐢💥 full disclosure I only just finished Indigo Disk's main storyline like....less than 24 hours ago so I am still RIDING HIGH FROM THE RUSH OF IT ALL. will probably be spoilers ahead, as a head's up:

first off I love that like. right off the bat youre getting hit with cyrano and cavell old man yaoi. busting out the cute little nicknames like HELLO!!! AND then you have geeta showing up and rika is there for no reason whatsoever and it's like. well ok i think they were having lesbian activities on the plane over you love to see it!

anyway setting wise, the Big Ol Blueberry is pretty fun! I love running around and the Synchro Machine is SUCH a ridiculously fun feature (FINALLY, TRUE GAMING: Dana can run around as a Ninetales and smack a big ball around.) I love all the Unova callbacks and I LOVE THE DIFFERENT CLUB ROOM LAYOUTS!! The monochrome one made me tear up and SEEING THE FUCKIGN. POKESTAR STUDIOS ENEMIES. IN THE FUTURISTIC ONE. MADE ME FEEL SOMETHING. pokestar studios my beloved i miss it sooo much 😭 My buddy Snap was talkin about how the Terarium really kind of lacks... yknow, landmarks and points of interest, though, and god I agree so hard. I love that Kitakami had its own little set of interesting features and places to go and use as landmarks and the Terariuam kind of. Doesn't really have those. It's a bit of a pain in the ass to navigate and easy to get lost but not in a fun way.... even though you have these little neat natural features like The Pride Rock and Chargestone Caves, I wish we coulda had a little bit more :( For such a widely used part of the school it doesn't feel very 'lived' in by the students there. It would've been fun to see more gathering places aside from the Very Sterile Outside Classrooms.....

The Area Zero Underdepths, though...hooouughhHHHhhh. I just. I really have to admire the fact that Indigo Disk said "ohhh you want answers?? you wanna know what's going on in this place? fuck you, youre gonna have MORE questions after this, and theyre gonna be even CRAZIER ones." YOU GO IN THAT HOLE AND LEARN NOTHING AND IM NOT EVEN MAD ABOUT IT. GO LOOK AT THE CRYSTAL TREE DOWN THIS RANDOM PATHWAY. i neeeed to make a terapagos post sometime and talk more about it i cannot stop thinking about this little freak. POKEMON THAT SCARE ME A LITTLE I MUST SAY. POKEMON I DO NOT FEEL IN CONTROL OF. i Know they didnt make its charged terastal form look like a dream catcher for no reason. I Know its Stellar Form Looking Like That isnt for no reason. I know its borderline dangerous power and THAT LITTLE STUNT IT PULLS. AT THE CRYSTAL POOL. THAT'S INDICATIVE OF SOMETHING I THINK. >when Terapagos's cry was the sound Terastalizing has been making all fucking game. SCREAMS.

also again oh my god if you beat the main indigo disk storyline go to the crystal pool right now GO. GO FEEL SOMETHING. GO!!!!

ok well that's. less about setting and more about story though huh. well!! story wise, absolutely loved it! I know there was a lot of apprehension when the DLCs got more properly announced and we found out they didnt really center on Our Dear Paldea Friends as scarvio proper did, and yeah I definitely can see why that's a frustration and a deterrent for some (and I'm soo so excited to hang out with Nemona and Arven and Penny in the epilogue next month....peach time (: ) but for me in the end I'm really just so enamored and delighted with all the new friends you get to make in the DLC and they more than carry that little narrative's arc on its own. The Elite 4 of the BB League are all GREAT, they got nonstop autistic girls out here in gen 9 (nemona, amarys, briar ?!??!) and it ROCKS. and i LOVE Carmine so much, everyone always wants mean rivals and mean women and folks cant even handle Carmine 🙄 you can tell she genuinely has such a big heart and cares about her friends and her brother!!! and Kieran wahhh wahh kieran my newest Little Guy ;____;.... he is SO fourteen and I did not expect to go into the DLC getting really invested in a new character's arc but it's just GOOD. He REALLY feels like a loose yugioh character in Indigo Disk, he's so angry and obsessed with victory and ultimately under it all still capable of so much kindness and regret and he's just GOOD. And his champion battle was terrifying and a BLAST!! THE MUSIC RULES. HE EVEN HAD INCINEROAR.

god and all the music in Indigo Disk was a banger. gen 9 music save me. gen 9 music. save me gen 9 music.

i'm SUPER hyped to do more BBQs with my bestie and do more postgame stuff with the "hanging out with Gym Leaders" thing and the Legendary hunting and such... lots more to roll around in and have a good time with. All in all had just a great time with it, I genuinely might put Violet as my favorite Pokemon game of all time at this point! I do grow very sad thinking about just how even more fantastic this game couldve been if it had 1-3 more years to cook properly though, like..god damn. I was getting some LAG on those cutscenes, and I know I made out pretty alright in the bugs department!!

but for now i'll just be thinking about the shit that happens at the crystal pool for the rest of my life. also Indigo Disk gave me the best possible trainer ID photo i never need to change it again

[hows-my-handwriting]

Is This a Bad Dream? (spiderverse!LN au)

so..... i have this.... au... right........

lets be real i have too many aus

its Little Nightmares but Spiderverse characters.

BEFORE YOU VOTE: read below the cut i just want to make this intro part short lol. whats below the cut is very long btw so. you have been warned XD

SO. with the recent (not so recent anymore but at the time it was recent lol) announcement of ln3 i lost my mind and went back to watch playthroughs of ln2 and got my googily little gears turning.

im thinking about this very much like an actual little nightmares game if not a little longer than the average game. (eg. 10 chapters instead of the usual 5). the main playable character is miles, and your party is the rest of the kids, mainly gwen, but with pav and hobie to help with puzzles or specific skills.

concept designs for the party + margo and peni. (might change miles and pavitr's designs cuz not sure i like them.

i have most of the bosses figured out and the general pace and timeline of the story but setting and the final two bosses are giving me problems.

anyway here's an excerpt:

It was always night time. 

Miles could sit in his window and watch the sky all day, but it would always stay dark. The lights outside were bright enough so he could see, but the sky was always gray. Or sometimes black. He leans against the glass sometimes just to try to see the sky clearer. 

Sometimes the sky would come down to him. The clouds would crawl out of the sky and walk on the streets with footsteps that sounded like the pitter patter of his own little feet. It would walk on the roof sometimes too. He could hear its feet stomping on the sharp shingles. He wondered if it hurt. 

The ceiling would cry if the sky stomped on it too much. Drops of water would run out of the holes in the white paint and into the buckets littered around his room. There were only two, one was empty right now, the other was full. They were lovely little things- well, they were actually quite big. Miles climbed inside them sometimes, perfectly sized to curl up on their rounded bottoms. 

He drank his house’s tears sometimes. He got thirsty a lot, even though he never really left the room. He would sometimes get a little tray from the lady in the wall. She came up every so often and gave him a tray with some food and a glass cup full of water. 

She was a nice lady. She didn’t talk though. So he didn’t either.

He never left his room. She had her own door, but every time he tried to follow, he couldn’t open the door. There was a bigger door. He remembered at one time, people had come out of it. They would use their large warm hands to lift him up onto the big bed in the corner. They would pat his head and tuck him in with the warm blanket and fluffy pillow. They would speak to him too, in words he didn’t understand. 

He remembered long brown hair and kind eyes. He remembered a stubbly beard and warm smile. He remembered feeling warm when they were looking at him, feeling like he could stay where he was forever. 

But that was a long time ago. He gave up on counting. He had started counted the times the sky went dark. The lines were scratched into the post at the foot of the bed. When those lines filled up all the space, he started counting the times the ceiling cried. But he lost track. 

He was lonely now.

He couldn’t reach the big door. No matter how hard he tried. He tried jumping for it. He tried to climb up the wardrobe leg. But he never got high enough. So he stayed. He stayed on the floor of this room, watching the water fill up the buckets again and again. 

The walls were covered in color. Miles drew all over them. He had crayons that the lady in the wall had brought him one time. It was a big box, filled with more colors than Miles could name. He drew on the dry wallpaper, filling all of the gray space with shapes and scribbles. He had filled up all of the space he could reach, wearing down so many of the crayons down to their paper wrappings. So he moved to the floor. He filled up the floor too, drawing himself adventures that took him far away from the crying house. He drew himself running up to the sky and giving it hugs whenever it cried. 

The floor was full of color too now. 

He sat on the window that was nailed shut, and listened to the footsteps of the sky. He was happy here. He was . . .

jazz hands.

[nmzuka]

So like, what is Arms about anyway?

I know it's a game, and I think I always assumed it was like Smash Bros or something, but it sounds like there's a storyline? Lore? Plot??

Also please talk about the two characters you always draw. I wanna know about them individually+as a couple (even if it's not a canon thing, I still wanna hear about why you ship em, what their dynamics are, what makes the relationship interesting etc)

Oh boy this is gonna be a long reply lol but appreciate the ask! Im gonna put this under a read more cause it got really long even tho I feel like there is a lot more I could say ^^;;

So yeah ARMS is a fighting game but I would kinda compare it more to Punch Out! then Smash? your pov is behind the character and you’re more or less boxing but the gimmick is that the characters have extendable arms so it’s not like as close quarters as boxing haha You’d think with how invested I seem to be in it that there would be some deep and engaging plot but there isn’t really? There is a “story mode” where you just play thru the Grand Prix to win the ARMS League Championship You do get snippets of character lore from this in the form of dialogue from the announcer Biff (who like… might be a god or something from one of the Fighters cultures??) but it’s all just kinda random fun facts  As for like game universe lore it’s all very vague The ARMS gene has been around for a looong time (where it came from we don’t know) but it causes people’s arms to become spring like This usually manifests in teen years (tho it can happen at any time), usually the person wakes up with their arms changed, and it’s typically something the person was around a lot that their ARMS takes on the material of (sometimes it affects people’s hair as well) ARMS can be hard to control and will randomly uncoil at times and that’s why people wear the masks as control of the ARMS are connected to the eyes (people with ARMS also have spiral irises)  There’s very few like concrete things… there was suppose to be a comic that would expand on the lore and explain things (like the fact that Spring Man is technically the 3rd “Spring Man” as its a title passed on) but sadly they quietly canceled the comic after making us wait like for years with no update about it :////

I could go into more details about things but that’s like the broad strokes of the world at least

I do think the vagueness of it and the bare bones of the Fighters tho is kinda why it still has some very dedicated fans? Everyone is more or less able to take it and make it their own by filling in the blanks of the characters and the lore so we’ve all just kind of made it our own (why I’ve thought many times to just take the characters and make them ocs because at this point they really feel like it haha)

As for the two I’m always drawings…Ribbon Girl is a famous pop idol singer and Kid Cobra is a streamer/video maker and snakeboarder (an in universe sport like skateboarding) he’s also one of the rare people born with ARMS and he keeps his identity secret They are only canon in my heart as I just think they are perfect together haha they fill my love of the “bad boy/good girl” troupe (shipping them at all started out as a joke but damn if it didn’t progress quickly) This will start going more into my own hcs for the characters but I think how well they fit together. They’re very opposite but also similar and bring out better parts of each other Ribbon is very much a people pleaser and has been fairly sheltered, unable to do much of her own things because of breaking into the idol role at a young age (and also a bit because of her mother directly…) KC is very much the opposite haha he does what he wants But they’re both living under a public persona and part of the dynamic I enjoy is them breaking thru each other’s persona in a way I don’t see them able to with anyone else KC helping Ribbon learn to do things for herself, that she doesn’t need to be what others want her to be and should be living her life how she wants Ribbon helping KC open up, to know he doesn’t have to hide who he is from others They’d help each other become better versions of themselves and I just love that for them hhhh Their relationship would be a tender and hesitant one (their personas again get in the way) Ribbon as an idol isn’t supposed to date and KC worries his reputation (as a streetsmart skater punk) will be bad for her reputation. Ribbon worries about the attention she’ll bring to KC (he obviously wants a certain amount of attention but also tries to be very secret) Just a lot of uncertainty from both of them about trying to date but damn the feelings are there and can’t be ignored! They’ll figure that shit out as they go and if it all falls apart in the end well at least the highs were good while it lasted (not that it does they’re gonna be together forever!)

I also enjoy thinking of the dynamic of them being playful and silly together hhgghg KC loves to joke around and shit which does make Ribbon laugh a lot but also makes her be like “omg why are you like this??” Aaaa this reply is truly a ramble and so long even tho I feel like I’ve hardly gotten into any details. I’m not great at explaining things with words that’s why I try to draw Ribbon and KC as much as possible to show people what I see in their relationship I think they are perfect and really just can’t picture them with anyone else hhhh

[repl1c4nt]

kkiez. finished dawntrail ⬇️(imagine i posted this months ago 7.1 & 7.2 spoilers now too )

Well! it was definitely an expansion. the rite of succession was FINE as an arc underwhelming but ultimately unoffensive each trial was really repetitive and heavy handed to the point it was honestly a little insulting im not 10 i can read between the lines sometimes it reminded me a lot of the 6. patch cycle where every single patch ended with the same friendship is magic lesson for zero. i think we get it, admittedly the rite of succession arc was my favorite, as i felt the worldbuilding and characters worked best for me in Yok Tural. I was pretty invested in the direction the story was going to take in 6.55, honestly really prepared for my adventure in tural far more excited than i was at its initial announcement trailer, i was left mostly confused by that haha. The soundtrack as per usual blew me away and i honestly never doubted soken anyway- i was also particularly impressed by the new areas in yok tural. they were so beautifully crafted i felt really inclined to just wander around and experience them up to shaaloani the areas felt so beautiful and intentional. a serious step up from previous expansions. though the narrative i felt was far too interested in rewarding wuk lamat over allowing her to grow into the role of vow of resolve. this is not wuk lamat hate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! get out of here if you hate her..... I love that cat she was easily a highlight for me in dawntrail. though i just wish her arc felt more like a proper character arc. I really dont mind but she’s always right and everyone else is always wrong and that’s fine ok peace is good but like fundamentally her platform is maintaining how tural already is right? like it’s upholding the status quo **the working status quo ok i’m not accusing wuk lamat of conservative politics but what i’m saying is we see these very brief sped past moments of the status quo not upholding peace and prosperity for Everyone. merchants are having trouble because of poorly maintained infrastructure people are suffering financially regardless and the game never ever wants to address how in any way at all tural could improve to support its people besides maintaining the peace it’s always bad like this is so boring.... it just makes such an uninterestung, unfulling story. i dont feel like im watching someone grow i feel like im watching one cat girl 2 comically evil villians and also koana whos just there really. i cant help but laugh at the scene with gulool ja where he’s like my daughter… shes naive and not ready and it’s like dude i cant stress enough she’s the only person here the narrative treats as capable. overall the rite of succession clearly had enough ideas to make its own compelling expansion and ill alwahs be upset it wasn’t............ thats right it isnt the entire expansion. Something Happens. I need to talk about Solution 9 & my absolute dislike for everything that happens from here on out. Literally exploding into the story completely unprompted were introduced to the true villian and second arc of the story. Zoraal ja was set up to be the villian at this point, Krile very immediately calling out- and i shit you not- the extreme darkness she senses in his heart arousing suspicion pretty early on. even while bakool ja is acting cartoonishly villainous and setting everyone back zoraal jas wicked vibes are supposed to stick with you. but heres Sphene cute and unassuming and i would be so on board for sphene as an acting antagonist if it werent for what happens in 7.1 & .2 but im getting ahead of myself. Frankly, I find Solution 9 and alexandria as a whole to be ugly to look at, uninteresting in every way, and ultimately disappointing. Now im a pretty big final fantasy 9 fan, but dawntrail wants you to think of ff9 in my opinion, to distract from the sloppy writing and disjointed narrative. now it seems tumblr recently implemented a character limit so i guess i have to wrap it up. which ive never had to do for a tumblr post before:

sphene, like wuk lamat is attempting to maintain the working status quo of her people, despite the sacrifices it takes and like tural, despite the people who end up left behind. to the two of them the system is unflawed and should upheld because of the ill that will befall their respective people should it not be. it is sooo interesting that sphenes system can only exist at the expense of others and wuk lamat well there’s just nothing there… because the rite of succession arc was frankly rather rushed and the game would much rather you think wuk lamat is the correct choice, despite it being obvious by the other options being incompetent and evil. and koana is there btw. in case you forgot again. sphene as an ultimate twist villain, beholden only to the duty she was created for was, in my opinion, the best thing about her. its a shame it was squandered (in my opinion) by reintroducing her as placid and nonthreatening as humanly possible with the 'real sphene' reveal in 7.1. How absolutely boring and in my opinion, insulting to reintroduce the same woman as completely caring, mild, and toothless. 7.2 was to me a much better patch but Calyx as an antagonist is such a strange choice. i will try to be hopeful as i do think he is interesting as of right now, but im not forgetting the character youve chosen to represent the idea that humanity needs to transcend the confines of their flesh prisons is disabled. But that isnt to say I entirely hated dawntrail. the content for me was very easily some of the best in the series so far. the dungeons were mechanically incredibly fun, fast paced, and i very much so welcomed the challenge. and i havent forgotten what is to me the best thing to come out of solution 9: the arcadion. Where im honestly tired of everything else happening in the ninth shard im tuned in to my fantasy WWE melodrama. Mechanically fun like the rest of the content in DT the arcadion has what no other aspect of alexandria does; characters and a story im deeply invested in. Im incredibly excited for epic highs and lows of high school wrestling. If the cast of the first tier wasnt fun enough, the second tier really stepped it up flashy, fun, and incredibly impressive. Potentially my favorite series of the game if it sticks the landing as well as it rocked the introduction. Admittedly, I'm no ultimate raider, but FRU was incredibly impressive (to watch haha) I can only hope to be good enough in 5 years when its time to lock in for the arcadion ultimate