#call me the multitasker LOL

[piercing-blood]

im not even halfway through this show

[coralsgrimes]

Sooo over the months I been typing these long ass coral life stories, very agitated may I add, but then the frustration wears off so I just been deleting the shite cuz why would anyone wanna read any of that.

Tho I have a fuck me story from today x.x

So imagine me just coral girlblogging making fun of Benny and then!!! A call! Sadly it was our lab technician and when he's calling it's gotta be real bad. But ye know there's this storm coming so maybe he just updating me about the department whatever they came up with??? Nooooo he did not xd

Lemme break it down for ye cuz like;

1. One of the cleaners walks by our cold room, feels that it's unusually warm around

2. No idea how long it took but the cleaner eventually tells the guard who comes by and is like oh it's fucking boiling

3. The guard calls our technician who comes by and decides the cold room is fucking broken

4. He calls me, while imma trying to girlblog, to come cuz it's a disaster

Sooo, I sent thousands of messages in our lab group chat asking who was the last one in the lab Saturday night and who's coming later today cuz I would appreciate the help. Still have no idea how long the cold room was boiling. Anyways it was me, the technician and later later later one other girl came by but she had her shite to do too so was not mucha help. We moved everything that was in there to freezers, cold rooms and fridges all over the building and in another fucking building cuz one thing about science - there's never enough space and so it happened that our cold room is the biggest in the building cuz we stock shit tons of media. And the problem is that the stuff there is big like bottles of reagents, media and I just made like a 200 fresh plates last week that might all be bin material at this point x.x so it was like impossible Tetris to put it all elsewhere lol and I had to make fucking lists of where each lil fucker went

Then I sent thousands of emails to PIs of the other lab groups in the building and everyone else in that circus to say yeee sorry to stuff yer fridge but our cold room is a sauna now soooo had no choice xd

And then, since cold room is a critical equipment, we called the service right, like to get to the shite and fix it they have to get on the roof cuz idk why but all the cold rooms in the building are like that apparently. So tonight/tomorrow it's stormy so no one is getting up that fucking roof, Tuesday maybe? Nope, they said MAYBE they can get someone to take a look on Friday....

Just so ye all know, the temperature in the cold room is supposed to be between 2 and 4 degrees. It was 26??? me think when I came, and then it was 39 when I was leaving xd it stinks and is so dirty I will probably have to deep clean it after it's fixed

And now, the storm is coming and I love rain on my roof windows but not the stormy about to kill me red weather alert rain and wind. Fun x.x

I do obviously blame Benny cuz the timing is absolutely not a coincidence lol I may make no sense but Imma so tired xd gotta come in late tomorrow as a treat and also after the worst alert is over xd if the power dies then I might even get tomorrow off cuz funny thing when there's no power they do have a generator back up, tho!! it can't power the whole building so if that happens they disconnect all equipment and all sockets and turn off the automatic lights and shite so that only freezers and fridges and incubators would take the power lol meaning no one on site. Let's pray actually 🙏 could use that lol

[dragoneyelashart]

drug dealer! billie hcs ★⋆˙

smut/angst/fluff ୨ৎ warnings: mention of gunplay, spit kink, use of drugs

drug dealer! billie who calls you her favorite customer, always giving you discounts

drug dealer! billie who when you forget to pay makes you suck her dick in compensation 

drug dealer! billie who wears her strap to parties just incase

drug dealer! billie who has girls all over her, but when she sees you she’s moving to make space for you, patting the empty space on her lap so you can sit.

drug dealer! billie who purposely moves around when you’re sat in her lap so you can feel her strap pushing into you

drug dealer! billie who is big on fucking you from behind

drug dealer! billie who always calls you ‘baby’,  ‘mama’ and especially ‘her girl’

drug dealer! billie who makes you gag on her strap and swears she can feel how good your mouth is on her

drug dealer! billie who always praises you for taking her so deep

drug dealer! billie who’s staring you down at a party when she see’s you flirting with anyone else

drug dealer! billie who keeps a gun in the waist band of her pants

drug dealer! billie who would threaten anyone flirting with you with that gun, then later have you on your knees while she trailed the gun down your body

drug dealer! billie who loves when you leave marks on her neck 

“yo billie, who gave you that mark”  “my girl did” she says winking 

drug dealer! billie who licks the drugs off your body, placing it on your tits, thighs and stomach

drug dealer! billie who spoils you with her money

drug dealer! billie who comes to you after a fight + fucks you when she's angry

"you gonna let me take my anger out on you, mama?" she'll say as you're waiting patiently on your knees for her

drug dealer! billie who spits in your mouth before she kisses you like it's a routine.

drug dealer! billie who says "good girl" every time you bring her a lighter, her phone, her gun — doesn’t matter what it is.

drug dealer! billie who has your name tattooed on her thigh, right where only you get to see it.

drug dealer! billie who keeps one of your panties in her glovebox like it’s a good luck charm.

drug dealer! billie who lets you sit on her lap while she counts money, her hand casually gripping your thigh while she multitasks.

drug dealer! billie who only sells to people she likes, and if someone she doesn’t like asks, she just points to you and goes, “ask my girl, maybe she’ll be nicer than me.”

drug dealer! billie who brings you a bag of your favorite snacks every time she drops something off “can’t have my baby starving while she’s getting high.”

drug dealer! billie who makes you ride her strap with her glock on the nightstand.

drug dealer! billie who tells people you’re her wife even though you're not married — yet.

drug dealer! billie who pulls you by the collar and growls, “don’t ever talk to that punk again,” then kisses you like she owns you.

drug dealer! billie who smells like weed, gunpowder, and your perfume, she says she wears it to remember what home smells like.

drug dealer! billie who sends you selfies mid-deal, shirtless in her car, captioned “thinking about you with my dick out lol”

drug dealer! billie who gets into a fight and when you ask “did you win?” she smirks, bruised knuckles and all, “you should see the other bitch… actually, don’t. just look at me.”

drug dealer! billie who tells everyone “this pussy's prescription only,” and you’re the only one with the refill card.

drug dealer! billie who lets you weigh the product on her lap like she’s testing how well you can handle pressure.

drug dealer! billie who tells you, “don’t cum till I say,” then takes her sweet time fingering you, loving the way you beg and whine for her.

drug dealer! billie who’ll have you in the backseat of her car, legs over her shoulders, strap buried deep.

drug dealer! billie who’ll make you choke on her strap with one hand in your hair, the other still texting a client. “keep going, mama — i’m multitasking.”

drug dealer! billie who fucks you with her silver chain wrapped around your throat like a leash, pulling every time you moan too loud.

drug dealer! billie who loves when you wear nothing under her oversized hoodies/ shirts and only finds out when your sat on her lap or she grabs your ass  — “such a slut for me, huh?”

drug dealer! billie who’ll finger you under the table during a deal, whispering, “be quiet, baby, i’m working,” while you’re shaking in her lap.

drug dealer! billie who records you crying on her dick and plays it back when she’s alone, cocky smirk on her lips as she listens to how ruined she made you.

drug dealer! billie who’ll edge you all night then finally fuck you in the morning, saying “only good girls get to cum on my strap.”

drug dealer! billie who won’t tell you where she disappears to some nights, just comes back with bruised knuckles and haunted eyes, muttering “don’t ask, baby, please.”

drug dealer! billie who pushes you away when she’s scared, when things get too good, she starts fights just to convince herself you’ll leave before she gets too attached.

drug dealer! billie who almost gets caught in a raid and calls you from a burner phone, breathless and frantic, “i don’t know if i’ll make it out… just know i love you, alright?”

drug dealer! billie who refuses to sleep next to you after a deal goes bad because she doesn't want to bleed on your sheets — “i’m dirty, baby. you deserve better.”

drug dealer! billie who goes dead silent when you cry in front of her for the first time, then holds your face and whispers, “you know I’d kill anyone who made you feel like this... even if it’s me.”

drug dealer! billie who gets so used to giving everything away,money, product, sex, that when you love her without asking for anything, it breaks her.

drug dealer! billie who makes you promise that if she ever disappears, you’ll leave town and never look for her  “i can’t have you getting hurt just because you love me.”

drug dealer! billie who sneaks into your apartment just to cook breakfast in your kitchen,  eggs burnt, toast uneven, but she’s so proud. “i feed you and fuck you? wife me.”

drug dealer! billie who gets high and gets soft, lays with her head in your lap and lets you play with her hair while she hums whatever song’s in her head.

drug dealer! billie who keeps a stash of your favorite snacks in her glove compartment. “my girl’s gotta eat between rounds.”

drug dealer! billie who rolls joints with pink rolling paper because “you like cute shit,” and always kisses you before lighting up.

drug dealer! billie who lets you wear her hoodie and hat, then posts you on her private story with the caption “mine mine mine.”

drug dealer! billie who always calls you to “come crash at mine” after a long night, she sleeps better when she can feel your heartbeat against her back.

drug dealer! billie who secretly keeps every love note, polaroid, and silly doodle you’ve ever given her, stashed in a shoebox under her bed.

drug dealer! billie who never says “be careful” — just “text me when you get home” — but she means “if anything ever happened to you I’d burn this whole city down.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function @thebluediner @aka-persephone @vijaxx | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[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

[twst-aceofhearts]

Hi !

I know Ace is your favorite, so I want to request Ace inviting reader to basketball club to show off lol

🌸 anon

Full-Court Crush

a/n: ACEEEEEEee words: 730 taglist: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

You probably should’ve expected Ace to make a big deal out of this.

“Come to basketball club today,” he said, leaning on your desk with a lazy grin. “Promise I’ll give you a good show.”

At the time, you thought he meant a normal practice. Drills. Sweat. Maybe some light yelling.

What he meant was: “Come watch me play at 150% power just to impress you and almost snap my own ankle.”

Now, sitting on the bleachers with a bottle of water in hand, you watched him dart across the court with exaggerated flair, flashing you a wink every time he made a shot. His movements were just a little too flashy, a little too cocky.

Yep. He was absolutely showing off.

“Ohhh, Shrimpy~ Look who Acey invited to watch him play~” Floyd sang from across the court, eyes narrowing in amusement as he spotted you. He grinned like he’d discovered your deepest secret. “Trying to look cool today, huh~?”

Jamil, passing the ball back to Ace, gave a low sigh. “Trappola, if you’re done flirting, we have drills.”

“I am doing drills,” Ace retorted, catching the pass with a dramatic spin. “Just with style.”

He glanced at you again—and immediately lost control of the ball as it bounced off his foot and skidded toward the bench.

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Style. Right.”

Floyd cackled, practically doubling over. “Acey tripped over his own ego~!”

You gave Ace a sympathetic look from the bleachers. He stood up quickly, trying to act like nothing happened, tossing his hair back like the ball had simply disobeyed him.

“Still nailed that shot earlier though!” he called to you, flashing a grin. “You see it?”

You nodded, trying not to laugh. “I saw.”

Ace’s grin widened. Jamil groaned audibly.

During scrimmage, things only got worse.

Ace kept calling for the ball even when he wasn’t open, took a wild three-pointer that missed by a mile, and kept glancing over at you so much he got elbowed in the ribs by Floyd.

“You’re gonna sprain your dignity, Acey,” Floyd said, not at all kindly. “And maybe your neck if you keep twisting around like that~”

“Stay focused,” Jamil snapped, intercepting a pass with surgical precision. “You’re not here to perform. You’re here to practice.”

“I am focused!” Ace yelled, almost slipping as he tried to pivot. “I’m just… multitasking!”

“Multitasking badly,” Jamil muttered.

You had to admit, you were trying to hold in laughter now. You’d never seen Ace this flustered on a court—and it was entirely your fault.

And maybe Floyd’s.

Okay, definitely Floyd’s.

When practice finally ended, Ace jogged over to you, cheeks flushed from exertion—and embarrassment.

He flung a towel around his neck and leaned forward, hands on his hips.

“Well?” he said, trying to sound smug through his heavy breathing. “Impressed?”

You gave him a long look. “You mean the part where you tried to do a one-handed spin layup and ran into Floyd?”

“That wasn’t my fault! He moved into my lane!”

Floyd sauntered by, still grinning. “Your ‘lane’ was my spine~”

Ace shot him a glare, then looked back at you. “Okay, okay, maybe I got a little carried away. But you showed up, and I wanted to make it worth it.”

You smiled. “You didn’t have to try that hard, you know.”

He blinked. “I didn’t?”

You shook your head. “You’re always cool. Even when you trip over your own feet.”

Ace turned red instantly.

Floyd let out a howl of laughter from the water station. “They called you cool even after that?! You’re soooo lucky, Acey~!”

Jamil walked past, grabbing his bag. “The bar is on the floor.”

“Okay, everyone shut up!” Ace groaned, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the gym doors. “We’re leaving. No more commentary.”

You let him drag you away, still laughing. “Ace, you’re ridiculous.”

“I try,” he said with a dramatic sigh. Then, a little quieter: “But I really am glad you came.”

You glanced at him. “Even though you embarrassed yourself?”

He smirked. “If it made you smile? Worth it.”

BONUS:

Back in the locker room:

Floyd: “He was so red the whole time. Like a strawberry.”

Jamil: “That’s what happens when your entire game plan is flirting.”

Floyd: “Think Shrimpy’s gonna wear his jersey next time~?”

Jamil: “If they do, Ace might actually pass out.”

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a pile :What if you were a subject ?

Masterlist\pick a piles feedbacks

This reading is about what you teach to others !

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

Hi there! If you find my readings helpful, a tip on Kofi is always appreciated, or you can book a personalized reading for a one-on-one experience and don't miss out on free readings offers.

Your likes, reblogs, and feedback mean so much to me 🩷.

Take a look at the piles and see which one speaks to you 🫶🏻 – I'd love to know which you chose! These are general readings, so take what feels right for you.

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Pile एक :

Art , astronomy, science, biology, geography, history,language, english

You will teach people how to be calm while having the power. You teach how to be your own light. You teach them how to move alone while being statistic . You teach people how to work smart and not harder. You teach them how to get more from doing less. You teach how to get in action quickly on problems to solve them. You teach them how to trust other person. You teach how to take care of your emtional wellbeing. You teach them how to secure that bag so that you can help others but 1st secure your bag \fill your own cup so that you can share it . You may read pile 3 if it calls you out !

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Pile दो :

English, geography, drama , chemistry, humanities and social science, spanish, photography, physical education, music, arts

You teach people how to walk alone through rough roads . Gracie's that's so true came in my mind. You teach them how to find solace with yourself and how to confide within. You teach them to be a good listener and how to speak honestly without sugar coating. You teach them how to do partnerships. You teach them how to take lead if you get chance for that. You teach them how to make best use of your position at work for other's favour . You teach them how to be useful to each other. Literally a girl\boy next door vibes. You teach how to have fun alone and with the things around you . You show them how bright they are like a sunshine. You teach how to receive.

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Pile तीन :

history, geography, physics , tech , literature, finance, cinema, science, theatre, buisness, japanese , english

You teach how to have fun with strangers lol . You teach them how to share your culture with others. You teach them how to be unique and be proud of it . You teach them how your existence makes so much sense and why you were born here on earth. You teach them how to make your presence felt between other people. You teach them how to be creative. You teach them how to mentor others. You teach how to shine brightly among others. You teach them how to be confident in their own vessel. You teach them how to multitask. You teach them how to ignore and not listen to unimportant bunch of quack - quacks . You teach how to have soft malleable boundaries. You teach how to be adaptable and survive any and everywhere. You teach how how to shut up people who are barking so much with your actions cuz words aren't enough. Pile 3 is my fav lol . SASSY PEOPLE . You may want to read pile 1 too .

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Thank you for allowing me to share my insights with you. Wishing you a day/night filled with good vibes!

Love, Jam

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 3: X marks the spot

genre: finally some fluff! still some angst, but some fluff too!

word count: 5804

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you need spencer back home. so spencer comes back home. simple as that.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: you folks are amazing! thank you so much for the support and I know this chapter is a bit duller (aka famous filler chapter) but y/n needs a break from pain and suffering all the time lol <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

“She knows who I am.” 

That is the sentence that sets off Plan B. 

Spencer’s instructions are clear: call Penelope and go to the BAU. Office Kaper is to stay with you at all times until you enter the FBI and even then, he will personally deliver you to her caring hands, and for once, you don’t argue. In what has been a very dark past few days, you think that Penelope’s bright colours might do you well. “I have to close the shop,” You tell him on the phone, already changing from your sleeping shorts into some jeans, but keeping his hoodie. Right now, you’re not focused on appearances; you’re focused on getting the hell out of there. 

“That’s fine, but keep Officer Kaper with you. Was the envelope delivered to my place?”

“No,” You breathe out, backpack on and ready to go. Nodding to man that has become your loyal companion, the two of you walk out of the building like any civilian couple. It’s unsettling, watching a man that is not Spencer wear his clothes, but he had to blend in so you two didn’t stand out. 

“And he’s wearing my clothes?” 

You turn to look at Officer Kaper and you snort despite the situation. “As best as he can, though he is considerably shorter than you, Spence.”

“You’re calling me Spence,” He says, and even his voice sounds a bit more at ease. Somehow, in the midst of this craziness, you two find time to ease back into what once was and you manage a small smile despite the anxiety rushing through you. “I missed that.”

“I miss you,” Is what you say back, and you blame it on the adrenaline of being outside, so open and vulnerable to prying eyes. “I… I feel safer when you’re here.”

“I know,” You swear you hear something skin to a smile on his voice. “I’m on my way back.” 

“Yeah, in like three days,” Talking on the phone and closing your shop is no easy feat. You’re no genius and having to split your focus onto two different tasks is quite hard, but you manage. You don’t want to let him go yet, scared that one you can’t hear his voice, he’ll be as good as gone. 

“No, I’m on the jet right now, I should be landing in an hour.”

You shouldn’t feel this happy about having Spencer come back this soon and probably in the middle of an active case, but when a psychotic killer starts sending you handwritten letters, you feel entitled to being a little selfish, even if guilt and anxiety are mixed it like the perfect emotional cocktail. “You didn’t have to,” You say, biting your nails when you finally grab everything you need and lock the door behind you. “Spence, I– thank you.” 

“You need me home,” Is all he says before announcing he has to go.

The silence doesn’t make things easier. Now that you don’t have to split your mind in two to multitask, you can fixated on the fact that this is serious. This is quite serious– Cat Adams has just confirmed she knows you. She has also, however, confirmed she does not know where you are, and just like you told yourself before, you have to believe that there is something better than this out there. There is a moment in time, reserved and crafted by the sisters of fate, in which Cat Adams gets bored with you. You are no longer a struggling rat under the weight of her paws, and she is no longer entranced by how you try to wriggle out of maniacal grasp. In another moment, another sliver of an alternate reality, Cat never even finds out who you are. You like that reality a bit better, because then you also don’t know who she is, and the knowledge of her presence and her impact on Spencer’s life is as weightless as a feather. 

While the city passes by you, the taxi ride to the FBI not as quick as you’d like with the early morning traffic, you allow yourself one more scenario. One more reality. 

In this one, you live in an apartment with muted green walls. Your furniture is that fancy, dark shade of oak and you don’t have to keep your books on the store; instead, you have space to add them to your decoration. You have shelves and shelves of books lining your walls and you think you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than that place. The windows, large and usually covered by cream blinds, are open to allow some sunshine inside. In this reality, you’ve told Spencer all about the benefits of sunlight to your books– none of them true, of course, but he still pretends to believe you, and he still opens the windows before leaving for work. This time around, you dream big– in this alternate life, Spencer never even met Cat Adams. He never even applied to the FBI, in this odd, hallmark version of your story. It doesn’t really matter what he does, but all that matters is that you get to be with him. You get to wake up next to him, to talk to him, to call him… hell, you even get to kiss him! 

This reality, as utopian as it seems, it’s fragile, though. Unrealistic. Spencer loves his job, you know that now. A world where you keep him from it can’t truly be a perfect world, not when he’d be so, so unhappy without his team standing next to him. “Ma’am,” Officer Kaper calls. “We’re here.” 

“Oh!” Grabbing your backpack, you follow him inside, feeling a bit awkward at the way people started at your with puzzled looks on their faces. “Wait! Before you leave, this is for you! You mentioned your daughter likes stories and that she’s about five or so, so these should be fun!” Children’s book is one of your secret passions, and you’re happy to see him smiling as he looks through the titles. 

“You really didn’t have to, Miss Y/L/N.”

“I really wanted to, though,” You smile. You need some light in your life as you walk those beige hallways. “Let me know if she wants more– her dad is a hero, so we have a special deal at the store for you.” 

“I’ll tell little Jane that a very nice lady from work gave her new books then,” He says, nodding as Penelope rushes to your side. “Call me if you need anything else, Miss Y/L/N, I’m happy to help. If it makes you feel better, you’ve been dealing with this exceptionally well. It can’t be easy.”

The validation has you pursing your lips, trying to hold back the need to hug him. In no way, shape, or form are you two close– to be honest, this is the most you’ve spoken with Officer Kaper during the forty-eight hours you spent together; and yet, his opinion seems to mean something to you. Your hands hide behind your back and you exhale sharply, nodding at him, eyes glassing over with emotion. “Thank you,” You whisper, head whipping at the familiar sound of heels waddling down the hall. “I’ll uh, I’ll go… but thank you. For everything.” 

He just nods, leaving with a wave and a smile. 

“Either you joined the FBI since we last saw each other or this sweatshirt belongs to a certain genius man,” Penelope says, looking at you with the ghost of a smile. If you didn’t know any better, 

“What? Oh. Yeah, I borrowed it from Spence,” You mumble, hands nervously fidgeting with your backpack. There isn’t much of anything inside, and you think you got flustered when you had Spencer on the phone telling you to get ready to go. All you remember is packing your toothbrush, a couple of books, and some underwear. “Oh, sweet girl,” Penelope sighs, her arm light on your shoulders, guiding you through those horrid halls. You think you hate the FBI headquarters more than you hate Cat Adams, and that is saying something. “Everything will be okay. Boy genius is on it, and he’ll figure this out in no time.”

“Seven days is quite a lot of time,” It’s not fair, how your words make her frown, but you have no one else. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can control them because this is what you’ve been dying to do since you first left that goddamned office, seven fucking days ago. And that is your regret– not talking to Spencer when you had the chance, not letting him talk to you, not… not letting him be therefor you. “God, seven days is a lot– it’s a whole week! I don’t know what you believe in, but if you’re Catholic, God created the Earth in seven days and– well, six days and Sunday he rested, but honestly, semantics. And it’s a whole week, one-fourth of a month. Seven days, and– and–“

“I am not judging you, because I am the biggest yapper of this team,” Penelope cuts right in, hand up in the air between you two. “But you need to breathe. I know seven days is a lot. And I hate that you’re in a position that you feel like you need to count the days. But there are no better people to have on your corner than this team. I promise you, Y/N, and– look!” She shakes her phone in front of your face. “Lover boy just landed! He’ll be here soon, so for now, please sit down and drink some tea?”

The door in the end of many, many hallways later is her office. You don’t really understand the juxtaposition of Penelope Garcia, and that’s okay– you might not understand her, but at least, with her, it feels like what you see is what you get. She wears her authenticity on her sleeve and you actually feel at ease around her because of it. There is not an ounce of ambiguity, not a shred of secrecy coming from her. She looks at you– really looks at you– and in her eyes you know how she feels. Penelope, unlike the rest of the team, is not a trained profiler, and even though you are quite limited in your knowledge of what exactly a profiler like Morgan and JJ does, the internet provided you with enough general background that you know just how… proficient… they are in hiding their own selves from the world. Apparently it’s a part of the job, but at one point, you have to wonder just how intrinsic is the job and their overall selves, and if when Spencer comes back home, does he leaves the job behind or is he always on the clock?

“Here, it chamomile,” The mug is bright pink and purple, and despite the room being dark and cold, you see how she has made it her own. The figurines and stickers on the screens around you make you smile weakly, sipping on the tea while sitting down next to her. Her screens are locked, and you are thankful for that– it makes you feel like at least someone is trying to separate you and the world you never wanted to know existed. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug a little, finger running around the rim of the cup. “I… I’m scared. And this feels really stupid, you know? It’s not even about me, but I’m the one kicking a fuss about everything,” Shaking your head, you let out a big exhale, like you have been holding it in for the longest time. “All because of a silly crush, oh my god…” 

“Wait… Wha– What…?” 

“I know,” You laugh at yourself, that type of chuckle that is so dry and void that even you worry. Underneath it all, underneath all the anger and the confusion and the disbelief, you think you just feel… dumb. You feel stupid. Like you’ve played yourself, and poor Spencer doesn’t even know. “How stupid am I? Getting a serial killer on my back, all because I liked a boy? And it’s not even like he likes me back, so this is all just… so fucked up. I wish I could go visit her and tell her that I don’t have Spencer, not like how she thinks I do.” 

“You like Reid?” Her smile is so big that her voice comes out all weird and squeaky. “You actually have a crush on little boy genius?”

“I–“ The hesitation in your voice is obvious. “I did. Spence is just so kind. And gentle, and loving, and he has this huge heart, you know? He used to bring me coffee every day he visited, and he would tell me all these really cool facts about the most random things, and I swear, I loved listening to him talk.” Without even realising, you’re smiling, wide and true, for what it felt like the first time in forever. You bring your legs up on the chair, hugging your knees close just to feel that sense of security it brings you, grounding you in the moment. The memories of your time with him, your favourite customer, are precious to you; and much like old time treasure, you hide it in the depths of your mind, away and untouched by prying hands of people around you. 

Except, Cat Adams found your map. 

And X marks the spot. 

It’s just a matter of time until she finds the golden chest and picks at the lock. 

Slowly, your smile slips away. “But now… now things changed, you know?” You gulp, not having the capacity to face the pitiful look she gives you without crying. And you’re tired of crying. 

“You didn’t change. Reid didn’t change, he’s still the same kind and gentle and loving man…!” You’re almost swayed by the desperation behind her voice. Penelope is a great friend and you can’t believe you were once jealous of her, but even then, you grimace. It’s not like you don’t want to let yourself be guided by these feelings– you want to let the butterflies loose, you want to allow yourself the giddiness of being with him, you want to have this quintessential girlhood experience, but the threat looming over your head pushes you down and away. You’re scared and you have all the reason to be. 

“Haven’t I?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. “Anyways, at the risk of sounding like a middle schooler, it’s not like he likes me either.”

“Y/N, he– he’s different,” Penelope whispers, reaching for your hand. “He’s afraid of germs and rambles a lot and he’s been hurt before, but please, if you just give him a shot, I think you could be really good for him.” 

“How would you know?” You’re not trying to be rude, you even smile a little, but the question stood– how would she know? You two had very limited interactions. 

“Because he talks a lot about you, and… well,” She confesses, chuckling like she had just done something naughty. When she points at the screens though, you gasp. “I know more about you thank you think.”

That makes your blood run cold. “You– what– what did you find out?” 

“Not as much as I could’ve!” She quickly promises, turning to the screen and quickly pulling up a file. The first thing you see is your driver’s license, and you wince at the picture. “This is all I managed to get before Reid put a ban on me!”

“He put a ban on you looking me up?” 

“Yes, he said he didn’t want to cheat and that he wanted to wait for you to tell him whatever you wanted to tell him,” Her words come out so fast you barely understand them, but it still tugs at your heart. “He said you didn’t know who he was because you didn’t know he worked for the FBI, and I tried telling him that’s not all he is! I did, but Reid is a stubborn, stubborn genius and wouldn’t listen to me! But he is, Y/N, he is much more than this job and–“

“I know that,” You whisper, eyes running through the documents on the screen. Degrees, past addresses, old jobs, family… and past relationships. Your body tenses up at the small list of names, one in particular making you gulp, glancing quickly at Penelope. “This is all, right? You… you didn’t dig more, right?” 

“Yes, this is all! I promise! To be very honest, I could find anything I wanted, but as I mentioned, I’ve been banished and threatened with a long, long lecture on privacy laws.” 

Her words echo in your mind for a moment, eyes unmoving from the bright screens. “Anything?” 

Penelope looks at your with hesitation. “Anything that has been online, yeah. Why?”

Sitting back down, you take a deep breath and nod. “Show me Cat Adams.”

“Oh… Oh, Y/N, no, no no no, I can’t–“

“Yes, you can! You just said you can find anything and, honestly how hard would it be for me to pick up my phone and Google her? If the FBI made the arrest, I’m sure media has picked it up!” Before you can even reach for the device, Penelope is grabbing it, hiding it behind her. “Penelope, please! This woman wants to kill me, I deserve to know what she looks like!”

Your voice is hushed, the undertone of desperation seeping through every word. “What if she gets out?” 

“Y/N, she has a life sentence, she’ll never get out.”

“You don’t know that!” This is what scares Penelope, the way you screech in panic, hands flying to the neck of the hoodie and tugging it away from you like you need it to breathe. “You don’t know that and I need to know what she looks like! Please, Penelope, I’m begging you!”

The tension in the room is palpable, but you know you got through her when she sighed. “I’m doing this for your protection,” It’s more like she’s talking to herself, so all you do is nod quietly, getting up and walking to the back of her chair. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” You are holding your breath while you squeeze the back of her chair, trying to keep yourself upright for a moment that could easily throw off your balance. 

In all honesty, you are not sure what you’re expecting. The little you know about black widow killers comes from a fictional world of made up characters, a place where the fantastical magic of made up stories meets the trauma ridden lives of turbulent characters. In them, these killers are beautiful. In fact, their beauty is their weapon, right before their grace and intelligence. It’s almost sick, how you remember liking those stories so much you once called it ‘a form of female empowerment’, and just thinking about it has your stomach tied in a bunch of knots, each one pulling and tugging at you in a rhythm that is too chaotic to not have you hunched over, panting next to Penelope like the photo she pulls up on her computer has just punched you in the gut. 

Because despite all your silent prayers, Cat Adams, in her orange jumpsuit and messy prison hair, is gorgeous. It’s something about her eyes, so cold and distant, yet holding an invitation that even you might not be able to resist. Is this how she draws men in? Is this how she drew Spencer? “I–“

“Garcia, what are you doing?!” 

Both of your turn around at the same time, both of you shocked at the sight of Spencer, in all his sweater vest glory and red face anger, marching towards you both. “Take it down.” 

You have never heard him sound so cold. “Spence, I asked her to pull it up. I was curious.”

“She should’ve known better, she’s an FBI agent!” Now he is screaming, and you can’t help but feel overcome with a familiar type of shame. Part of you, a specific part you left back in New York, expects him to to keep screaming. It’s the part of you that unconsciously pushes the tea mug away. It’s the part of you that looks at the door and feels relieved to see it unlocked. It’s the part of you you’ve been hiding from him and everyone else you met since you’ve moved. 

It’s the part of you Spencer just noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, squinting his eyes at your so quickly it’s almost imperceptible. Almost. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed, I’m just–“

“On edge,” You whisper, nodding in agreement. “We all are, Spence. Don’t scream at her, please.”

“I know, I know, I’m really sorry,” This is more like him– shy eyes casted down between glances here and there. “I just don’t want you wasting your time on someone like her. She doesn’t deserve it.” 

No one says anything for a while. Until you notice it. 

“Spence,” You mumble, smiling a little in an attempt to ease the high emotions in the room. “You cut your hair.” It’s shorter now. His shaggy curls still peek out, but it looks more… grown, even if it enhances his boyish charm. 

“I did,” He mumbles, blushing a little. For a second, he looks at Penelope, like he’s asking her what to say and what to do. “It was getting too long.”

“It looks really good.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” God, you love when his voice gets low and airy like that. Garcia is looking between you two with a certain kind of spark in her eyes and it makes you shift on your feet. “Uh, shall we go home?” 

“You’re going back to your apartment?”

“Yeah, Officer Kaper said that the letter came with the batch of mail they got from Y/N’s apartment, so it’s safe to assume she has no knowledge of her current whereabouts,” Spencer picks up your backpack without even asking, smiling at you innocently. “I reviewed the security footage you sent of my apartment entrance and there is no suspicious activity happening during the days I was gone. And, well, you know, I’m here now. She’s safe.” 

No one will ever understand the amount of relief you feel in that exact moment. “Thank you for coming back.”

“You need me home,” Is all he says before guiding you away. When you turn to say bye to Penelope, she is smirking, giving you two thumbs up and a giggle. In the midst of all this mess, you actually feel happy to have someone allowing you to enjoy a moment of silliness. “Are you okay? Do you feel a bit better?”

“Now that you’re back, yeah,” You sigh, sticking close to him as you pass by a group of agents. “Officer Kaper is really sweet, but he’s not you, he’s not–“

“Familiar,” Spencer says, but you shake your head. 

“He’s not my friend.” 

“And I am?” The hope in his eyes crushes your heart. You never meant to make him feel like you had left him behind, but you know you have pushed him away when he tried to stand by you. 

No more. 

“You are, Spence,” You breathe out, hand gently falling on his arm and squeezing it adoringly. “You’re my favourite customer and I guess now you’re my living room-mate. But you should really sleep in your bed tonight, okay?” The joke is just an attempt to make him smile, and you’re happy to see it works.

“Will you sleep next to me?” 

His question is not that unexpected, really, but it still makes you freeze in place. “Uh… What… What do you mean?” 

“Sleep next to me,” His bluntness doesn’t help with the way your cheeks fire up. “I know you’re scared, so if you’re next to me, I’ll be watching over you at all times. I’m a light sleeper, so even if something happens, I’ll wake up. We can put pillows between us, if the thought of me that close to you makes you uncomfortable and–“

“It doesn’t,” You say before you can give up on it. “I just… I know you’re a germaphobe and I don’t know how many germs can be shared when you sleep next to someone and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Actually, when you sleep next to someone, there is an exchange of bacteria and skin microbes when we turn and move around, but your brain compensates by releasing the ‘happy’ hormones because you’re sleeping next to someone you care about, so I wouldn’t mind the former much considering we would wake up pretty content.” 

Someone you care about. You hold your tongue back from asking him if he cares about you– at this point, you should know he does. You shouldn’t need the reassurance, as nice as it would feel to have it, but you really, really want it. In a time where everything is uncertain, you pray so that Spencer can be your constant. “Okay,” You nod, hand slowly slipping down his arm, brushing yours fingers through his, before letting it go altogether. Looking down to the ground, embarrassed with your own courage, you follow him out of the building. “The subway is that way.”

“We’re getting a taxi,” He mumbles, signalling one down as he spoke. “I don’t think public spaces with that much visibility are a good idea for now. I don’t want you paranoid, Y/N, but I need you to be careful, okay? Subways, buses, all of these get crowded and they have a large amount of surveillance. We still can’t figure out how Cat found out where you live or who is her connection that got your name through the UPS delivery, but we’re not stopping until we do, I promise you that. For now, we just ask that you be careful around people.”

“I work with people. I have to talk to them to sell them stuff… I can’t lose my store, it’s all I have!” The two of you turn to face each other on the back of the car. He is shaking his head before you can even continue, and when you feel it, the warmth of his hands covering yours, so much bigger and steadier to the point that is like he’s holding your fists in his palms, you hold your breath. 

“You won’t,” He whispers, shaking his head so gently that wisps of hair fall over his forehead and you have to fight the urge to push it back. “Y/N, you won’t. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Okay,” The trust you have in Spencer is enough to have you nodding along. Until the car stops in front of his apartment, he doesn’t let go of your hand, and you make no effort in letting go of his. 

It’s only when it’s time to pay for the ride that you pull away, faster than him in getting the money to the driver. “Hey!” 

“Be faster next time, boy genius,” You say, smiling tiredly while walking next to him through the hallways of his building until you reach Apartment 23. Using your key in front of him, the one he gave you when he went away, feels weird and oddly intimate. “Do you want this back?”

“Keep it,” Spencer says, giving you his trademark tight-lipped smile. The way his shoulders sag a little as soon as he is inside the familiar apartment has you frowning. He is exhausted, tired from flying and rushing through the city, but he still made the effort to come get you at the BAU. “What do you want for dinner? We can get some pizza.” 

“I have leftovers in the fridge,” You mumble, suddenly too out of place in the apartment you know at the palm of your hand. Standing in the entrance, you just look at him, watching him walk around the apartment so carelessly and you wonder if Spencer knows just how meaningful it is for you to have him back home. “I bought groceries, don’t worry, I didn’t use any of your food or anything like that.”

“I wasn’t worried, but now I am. I told you to be comfortable Y/N.” 

“I am…” You mumble, moving to sit down on the armchair. 

Under his watchful gaze, you’re not sure how much Spencer can get out of your behaviour right now. It’s a bit sad that you’re even thinking about this so consciously, observing him as he observes you right back. You know you will never win a battle of wits against the genius across the room, but no ones knows you better than yourself and that is currently your only leverage in this entire situation. But… why do you even need leverage? What is this war you have started with yourself and pulled poor Spencer in without even letting him know? The blanket you adore so much is right by your feet and you pull it up to cover your whole body, all the way up to your face. At this point, you don’t want him reading you because you’re afraid of what he will find. Specially because you don’t know what he will find. 

“What are you doing, Y/N?” When he sits on the corner of the chair, your body dips to the side, rolling closer to him. “Are you hiding?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And why are you hiding?” 

“Because you’re an avid reader,” Even you want to cringe at your own words. “And I’m not really sure what story I’m telling, right now.” 

His laughter takes you by surprise– this has to be the loudest you’ve heard Spencer be. “Y/N, what are you talking about? I’m not going to read you!”

“Spencer, you can’t help it! It’s what you do– I see the way you look at me, okay? I know what you’re doing, and I have to say I am not a fan!”

With one tug on the blanket, your face is exposed again with hair all over it. But then you see his smile, and it looks so honest and happy, like a version of him you thought you had left behind days ago. “You think I’m reading you?”

“Are you not?” You ask, sitting up to try and look at him with a serious expression. 

“No, Y/N, I’m not looking at you because I’m reading you.” 

There are moments in your life, unique and specific in their own credits, that you are sure you will never forget. The day you decided to leave New York is one of them– you bought tickets last minute and left with only a rucksack you found in the back of your closet. On the way to the airport, you called your parents, waking them up at three in the morning to tell them they were going to need to ship your stuff to a PO box address. Y/N, where are you going?, your mom cried out. What is going on? To which all you said was I’ll tell you when I can, before hanging up and throwing your SIM card out of the window. 

Opening your store was high in the list too. Not the day that you conceptualised it or rented the place– the day you truly opened it. The day your first customer, your favourite customer, walked in, that’s the day you truly opened the place. The day he bought a book and promised to come back again. 

Of course there are other dates, too; simpler dates. Birthdays, christmases, random family dinners. The small things that build-up to be big memories. But then there are the big things that are even bigger memories, and you’re intimidated, with the size of it all. It’s too big, too tall, and when you fall, it might just be high enough to break all your bones, but not kill you completely. No… that would be too merciful. 

This– Cat Adams, Spencer, the box– this is not just big. 

This is huge. 

In comparison, tonight is not all that big. In fact, his living room feels quite small now that both of you are back inside. The green walls descend and it’s just you and him, squeezed close in an arm chair you both love, surrounded by books you both love, and you still can’t help but feel afraid. This is as small as it gets, as monotonous as it gets, and yet, this is the most scared you’ve ever felt, because no matter what you do, it’s like you can’t stop climbing– you go higher, higher, higher. His words, replaying in your mind, keep pushing you up, without any regard of how you’ll ever come down. 

Truthfully, you don’t want to come down, even if he brings you down gently. 

“Then… why do you stare at me, Spence?”

He doesn’t answer you, shaking his head slightly before looking away and clearing his throat. Uncomfortableness doesn’t look good on him, and that is saying something, coming from the one person who thinks everything looks good on him. “I uh, I’ll heat up some of those leftovers. Shall I get you some, too?” 

Spencer might the profiler, but you are still able to read the blooming colour in his cheeks. “Yeah,” You say softly, I would love some, Spence.”

Dinner with him is peaceful. You’re learning how to live this new life with a plus one. You learn his habits and his quirks– you learn that he likes to put ketchup on his pizza and that he drowns his coffee in sugar. That despite his immense IQ, he still can’t quite cook for himself– or prefers not doing so. That he made sure his cleaning lady came during the times he was away to avoid small talk and human contact. You learn, through a lot of trials and a lot of success, that you are his one exception. 

For you, Spencer is malleable, and he has no qualms in moulding himself to your needs, except… except you don’t want him to do that. You don’t want him to be someone he’s not and you don’t want the Spencer you know and adore to be someone curated just for you. 

“I’ll go take a shower and change into some comfortable clothes,” He says after he finishes eating. “Thank you for the food.” 

“No problem.” 

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You can keep that hoodie. You look good in it.” 

Just like that, you chuckle, shaking your head when he disappears behind the bedroom door. If Cat Adams has the map to your past memories, Spencer Reid has the map to your future ones. 

X marks the spot. 

And for him there is no lock to pick– the door is wide open. 

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

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@glorioussunrise13

@idkimheretoreadonethibgofpsencdd

@pleasantwitchgarden

@issy25

@ilovechanyeol16

@gghostwriter

@stanswifties

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@dragon03138

@tbsloneely

[sumbarbietingz]

Burning Desires

You start working for Toji Zenin, the famous CEO of Zenin Inc. But your relationship won't stay professional for too long as attraction comes in the way

Chapter 1 : Welcome to Zenin Inc.

CEO!Toji x black!fem character

The series contains : smut (dom!toji, age diff, degradation and praise kink, choking, hair pulling, rough sex, foreplay, boundage, squirting, creampie and breeding kink) fluff, angst (mention of SA, violence, mental health issues, mention of teenage pregnancy, mention of death)

Words count: 4,5k

You can see the nword sometimes too lol.

Mazikeen is a talented and hardworking individual who has applied for a position as Toji Zenin’s new secretary. She's confident and articulate, with a sharp mind and an ability to keep things organized and running smoothly. It's the day of Maze's job interview, and she's feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as she walks into Toji's office building. He’s a wealthy and successful businessman and Zenin Inc. is a prestigious company who’s worth billions of dollars. She's also heard rumors about him being a difficult boss and a tough negotiator, but she's determined to make a good impression and land the job.

As she steps into Toji's office for the interview, she's taken aback by his intimidating presence. He's sitting behind his desk, looking every bit the powerful CEO he is. He gestures for her to sit down in the chair opposite him, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I knew he was hot but GODDAMN HE’S A GOD!’ Is what she’s thinking deep down as she takes a seat. She can smell his expensive cologne from where she’s sitting, the perfume intoxicating her senses.

"So, you're here to apply for the position of my secretary," Toji says, his voice low and gravelly. "What makes you think you're qualified for this job?"

Maze feels butterflies in her stomach once she hears his voice. This man is already affecting her after a single sentence and a few seconds of entering his office. Takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking. "Sir, I have experience in administrative work, excellent organizational skills, and a strong work ethic," she says confidently. "I also can handle confidential information discreetly."

Toji raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed by her confident tone. "I see" he says, leaning back in his chair. "And what do you know about the demands of this job? It's not just about pencil-pushing and answering phone calls. It requires a great deal of multitasking and the ability to handle stressful situations with composure."

Maze nods, already mentally prepared for his questions. "I fully understand the demands of the job. I'm able to work under pressure, prioritize tasks, and manage multiple projects at once. I know how to deal with difficult situations and maintain a level head even in challenging circumstances."

Toji studies her for a moment, his eyes never leaving her face. He can see the determination and confidence in her expression, and it's admirable. "You seem capable" his tone less cold than before. "But being a secretary requires a certain level of trust and loyalty. Can I trust you to keep my private affairs confidential?"

"Absolutely, sir" Maze responds immediately. "Your privacy and the confidential nature of your work are of the utmost importance to me. I assure you that I would never betray your trust or disclose any sensitive information without your explicit permission."

Toji nods, seemingly satisfied with her response. "Good. But being my secretary also means that you'll be working closely with me, attending meetings and events by my side. Are you prepared for that kind of exposure and scrutiny?"

Maze nods confidently again. "I'm prepared to be a visible member of your team and represent you in public settings. I'm good with people and have the ability to handle any inquiries or interactions with finesse and professionalism."

Toji leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "This job also requires a significant amount of travel. Are you willing to accompany me on business trips, often at short notice and often to different time zones?"

Maze doesn’t answer directly, she hesitates and Toji notices that.

"What’s the problem?"

Maze takes a deep breath before replying "Nothing sir."

See the thing is, Toji has a liar detector test for a brain. He knows something is going on. So he picks back up her resume, and reads it while talking to her

"Do you have maybe family members to take care of or something?" He notices her birth date. 22 years old? She’s basically a baby. How come she already has so many experiences?

Maze nods "I got a daughter."

His eyes widen slightly. She’s a mom? He would’ve never guessed "How old is she?"

"She’s 7" Maze replies

Toji keeps his composure but he’s genuinely shocked to learn that she has a 7 yo while being so young. A lot of things become more clear now. "I see. Just so you know, the company provides services for the parents. Such as babysitting and long-term babysitting for the employees who have to travel. And don’t worry, all our babysitters are licensed and pros."

Maze feels a wave of relief once she hears that, even though she doesn’t like the idea of leaving her daughter to someone else for more than a day. But she knows she needs this job. "I’m glad to hear that. I’m prepared to travel whenever and wherever you need me. I understand the importance of flexibility and being able to adapt to new surroundings quickly." She responds confidently now

Toji leans back in his chair, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He's impressed by her responses, her confidence and determination, and her willingness to adapt to his demanding schedule despite having a child. "Very well. You seem to be a capable candidate. But there's one more thing I need to know..." He leans forward, his eyes intense as they lock with hers. "You need to be able to handle me," he says, his tone serious. "I'm not an easy person to work for. I'm demanding, and I have little patience for excuses or mistakes. Are you prepared for that?"

Maze doesn't waver under his intense gaze, her confidence unwavering. "I understand the nature of your expectations, sir. And I'm more than prepared to handle the demands of the job and the challenges that come with working for you. I'm not one to back down from a challenge."

Toji studies her for another moment, his eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt. But all he sees is determination and confidence staring back at him. He can't help the flicker of satisfaction he feels as he leans back in his chair. "You have a strong spirit. I like that."

"Thank you, sir" Maze responds, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I believe determination and perseverance are important qualities for any job, but especially for being your secretary."

Toji nods, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Alright, then," he says, folding his hands on his desk. "I think I've seen enough. The HR department will contact you for an update."

Maze nods, standing up from her seat. "Thank you for your time, sir," she says while gathering her things. "It's been a pleasure speaking with you." She leaves his office, the sounds of her heels resonating in the room

Toji watches as she turns to leave, his eyes lingering on her figure for a moment before she disappears out the door. There's something about her that intrigues him, her determination and confidence, unlike anyone he's met before. But his thoughts go back to her age and her child. So many things pop up in his mind. Was she reckless and didn’t protect herself? Did the birth control fail? Did her parents pressure her to keep the baby? Or maybe she wanted to face the consequences of her actions and not run away? Or maybe she couldn’t get an abortion? So many theories come and go until a phone call breaks him out of his reverie.

A few days later Maze is at work, getting restless since the HR department still hasn’t called her back yet. She eventually thinks that she didn’t convince Toji and that she’ll have to forget about this opportunity. As she keeps typing on her computer, her phone buzzes, but she doesn’t recognize the number. She picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mazikeen Washington?" a pleasant voice on the other end of the line inquired.

"Yes it is." She says curiously

"Great, I'm calling from the Human Resources department of Zenin Incorporated. We have an update for you regarding your recent job interview with Mr. Toji Zenin."

"Oh, um, yes. I'm listening," Maze says, her heart racing even faster now. It’s the call she had been waiting for all week.

"We're pleased to inform you that your interview went very well," the HR representative said. "Mr. Zenin was very impressed with you and has personally requested that you join his team as his new secretary."

Maze gasp, her eyes widening in surprise, she feels a burst of excitement "Really?"

"Yes, he does" the HR representative confirmes. "Mr. Zenin was very enthusiastic about your qualifications and your confidence during the interview. He feels that you would be a valuable addition to his team."

"I, um, wow…" Maze stutters, still trying to process the news. "This is... unexpected. But, I mean, I'm honored. l'd be happy to accept the position."

"Excellent, we just need to finalize some paperwork and arrange a start date. Would you be available to come to our office sometime this week to sign the necessary documents?"

Maze replies, her mind spinning with with excitement "Yes, of course, when would be convenient for you? I'm free anytime."

"How about tomorrow afternoon around 2 p.m.? That way, we can get all the paperwork taken care of and you can start the job as soon as possible." She suggests

"Tomorrow afternoon works perfectly I’ll be there at 2 p.m." she agrees

"Great, we’ll see you then. And congratulations on your new position, Ms. Washington."

"Thank you so much," Maze says, her voice filled with gratitude. "I'm looking forward to joining Mr. Zenin's team."

She ends the call, and Maze stands there for a moment, trying to digest the news. She couldn’t believe it - she had gotten the job. She’s going to be working directly for Toji Zenin, the handsome and intimidating CEO who had captivated her thoughts for days.2 months later, Maze adapted to her new workplace at Zenin Incorporate. She's cordial with the majority of her colleagues, but the one she started being friends with outside of work is Jay (Jayna) Malone. These two are basically twins. Regarding her job, everything is going smoothly. The paycheck is good, she got to spend time with Nya her daughter, her duties are not as exhausting as she expected them to be, and as for Toji... there's definitely something going on in the air. She notices the way his hand lingers a bit too long when he gives her some files, she notices the way he looks for eye contact when he comes into the building when the entire lobby goes quiet in his presence, this tension whenever he calls her in his office or when he comes in hers... Trusting Jay enough she talked about all these small details and Jay came to the conclusion Maze thinks deep down herself: he's attracted to her. Maze being the reasonable one still thinks this is all in their head and even if he is attracted to her, nothing will happen, because after all, well, he's her boss. Jay being the wild and reckless friend tells her to go for it anyway. Because he’s ‘hot as fuck, rich as fuck, built like a brick wall and he prolly fuck good’. Horny bitch.

It’s Friday and per usual Maze is answering phone calls, doing Excel spreadsheets, and planning Toji’s schedule, when she hears the door knocking.

"Come in!"

The door opens and Toji comes inside her office. He’s wearing that black suit that’s almost too tight for his muscular body. He smells like that usual expensive cologne that drives Maze crazy.

"Come in my office," He says, his voice indicating that it’s an order

She nods "Yes Mr Zenin." She’s used to his demanding tone, he warned her about it after all. She stands up and follows him outside. His office is right next to hers so it takes her 10 seconds to be there. She opens the door and comes in, his large and organized desk, his red velvet sofa on the corner and the large windows that offer a beautiful view of the city, greeting her per usual.

But her heart skips a beat once she hears the sound of the door being locked. She swallows and slowly turns around, noticing something different in Toji’s expression. It’s not his usual nonchalant and composed look, it’s darker… and lustful. He has his hands in his pockets as he slowly approaches her, like a predator ready to jump on its prey. "You feel it too don’t you."

She slowly walks back, her heart beating like crazy. "Feel what Mr Zenin?"

He rolls his eyes as he keeps approaching you. "You know damn well what I’m talking about. This tension whenever we’re alone. I know you feel it as much as I do."

She keeps walking back slowly. God, he’s right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Of course, she feels it too. This consuming need to kiss him senseless, to be taken by him anywhere he wanted, those butterflies in her stomach whenever the two of them made eye contact in the middle of a reunion. She felt everything. "I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr Zenin."

"Don’t lie to me Maze. I see the way you look at me. The eye contacts we keep making."

She suddenly feels his desk hitting the back of her thighs, her heart beats so fast she feels like it might burst out of her chest. She can feel herself breathing a bit faster. "I…"

Toji is now in her personal space. He puts his hands on the edge of the desk to cage her. He can feel her sweet vanilla perfume filling his nostrils and her body heat radiating. Maze bites her lip at the proximity, she can feel his hard chest against her own. He’s so intoxicating. He comes closer to her face, his warm breath caressing her lips

"Tell me Maze. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t want me, and I won’t insist." He says his voice deep, almost a whisper.

"Mr Zenin… I… we… we can’t…" she says whispering, her mind yelling at her to say no, but her body telling her to say yes.

Toji chuckles and caresses her jawline with his finger, the touch sending shivers down her spine "I’m the boss sweetheart, besides that’s not what I asked. I want a clear answer." He responds, his voice soft yet firm. He’s now licking her lower lip, causing her to whimper softly. Her body is in heat, she can’t take it anymore.

"Say it Maze. Say you want me as much as I want you"

Maze feels like she’s being tented by the devil, like she’s Eve, and the snake is telling her to eat the forbidden fruit while whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She lets a shaky breath as she finally answers

"I… I want yo- mmph!" She barely has time to answer that Toji crashes his lips against hers with a loud groan, relieved he can finally taste her. He holds her by her jaw as he kisses her freveletly. Maze moans against his mouth, she sits on his desk and wraps her legs around his hips, feeling his arousal against hers. The kiss is heated, it’s a mess of tongues dancing together, moans and groans. Toji keeps his mouth against hers while he clumsily takes of his vest, so does Maze with her own. She removes her heals with her feet and her hands run on Toji’s chest, feeling his hard defined muscles under her fingers. Toji groans and leaves her lips to attack her neck, leaving kisses and love bites on it. Maze moans while unbuttoning his shirt. Once she’s done she helps Toji taking it off and finally sees the beauty that was hidden behind these expensive Zegna and Versace suits. She caresses his chest in lust and admiration, feeling his muscles flexing.

"My turn." Before Maze can say anything he lifts her shirt and pushes her on the desk, so he can take her breast in his mouth, humming as he suckles on her brown nipples while massaging her tits. She moans and feels her panties getting wetter and wetter by his ministrations "Mmm… Mr Zenin…"

"I think we’re past the point of formalities here. Call me Toji." He says between suctions. Maze nods while breathing heavily, feeling excited but also a bit embarrassed to call her boss by his name. But oh well he’s getting breastfed by her so embarrassment should be the least of her concerns. "O-okay… Toji" she breathes out

"Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart. Much better. I wanna hear you moan my name, not Mr Zenin" he grinds his bulge against her core, already impatient to be inside her. Maze hisses in pleasure from all the sensations "Fuck… mmh keep sucking on my tits while you rub your dick on my clit…"

Toji chuckles "You don’t get to tell me what to do darling" Then he stops, causing her to whine in protest. He grabs her by the throat and lifts her back up. "I’m still your boss remember? And I want you to do everything I ask you to do without discussing my orders, even now. Understood?"

Maze didn’t realize how much she loved being controlled like this until now. She bites her lip and nods eagerly "Anything you want Toji~"

"Good girl." He takes a step back and brings Maze closer to him by her neck. "Kneel." He says, his voice deep and dominating, indicating no back talk will be allowed. Maze nods and slowly gets on her knees, her eyes not leaving his.

Seeing her on her knees for him, looking at him with this needy expression on her face turns Toji on Even more. He has imagined it multiple times but seeing the real thing is better than anything. "Undress me then suck my cock."

Maze feels like a pool has formed between her legs. She can’t wait to finally have him in her mouth, so she quickly unbuckles his pants and undress him. And once she pulls his boxers down, she almost moans at the sight that greets her. This man couldn’t be more perfect. His length is huge and veiny, leaving a very small amount of pubic hair, and his balls are big. She lifts her skirt and starts rubbing her clit as she gets ready to lick the tip. But Toji’s grip on her neck tightens a bit. "Ah ah ah sweetheart. Don’t touch yourself. You’re not allowed to do that yet"

She whines again "But Toji I wanna-" She gets cut off with a gasp as she feels his grip tightening more, "I said. Don’t. Touch. Yourself." His voice is deeper, making it clear that he won’t allow disobedience.

She nods quickly and removes her hand to place both of them on his hips for balance, as she starts licking his cock. Toji groans softly and lets go of her neck to place his hand behind her head, his fingers playing with her tight curls. "Mmh… that’s it baby"

It doesn’t take long for Maze to suck his dick like a starving woman. She spits on it, gags and chokes on it, lets the drool flow on her chest, and makes sure to exaggerate every sound that comes out of her, meanwhile Toji groans in pleasure as he tightens his grip on her hair. "Fuck… you’re so good…" He loves how she’s behaving like a pornstar and how she’s feasting on him like he’s her last meal. "You look so slutty while sucking me. You look like you enjoy it too" he chuckles

Maze removes his length from her mouth, letting out a ragged exhale "Yes… so much…" She then licks and sucks his balls while stroking him. Toji grunts then grabs her by the hair and pulls her head back, admiring her mouth covered in spit, her brown and pink lips swollen, her runny nose and teary eyes. He bites his lip at the view, she looks so perfect, messy for him.

"Go lay on the desk" Maze nods and immediately obeys him, she’s shivering in anticipation. Toji stands between her legs and lifts her skirt up to her stomach, not bothering to take it off. He takes off her panties throws them somewhere and admires her body. She’s stunning. Her brown little pussy was already so wet and ready for him, her curvy body on display for him. She’s perfect. He grabs her thighs and slowly lowers his head. "You’re beautiful." Is the last thing he says before licking her wet core.

Maze lets out a deep moan, her aching clit finally gets some attention, and it feels so good. She runs her fingers through his hair and with her other hand she grips the desk. He’s a real pro. He knows where to lick and suck, how to make her moan louder and make her grip his hair harder. He also spits on her clit, he wants it to be messy. Toji grunts once he feels the way her hips start riding his face. But once again, he’s the one in control, so he grabs her hips tightly and pins them back firmly on the desk to show her she’s not in charge. But Maze loves it. She loves the way Toji dominates her and he knows that. He keeps eating her pussy up and down, left and right, wanting to generate more of those sweet moans. She starts breathing heavily, her legs are shaking, and she feels the orgasm coming. "T-toji im gonna cum…" Then Toji inserts two fingers in her gummy walls, folding them inside her, and moves them back and forth while he licks and sucks her clit. That does it for Maze. She cries out and sees stars as she feels the wave of her orgasm crushing her. Toji moans when he hears the beauty of her moan, he wants more, so much more from her.

He takes his fingers out, lifts his head, and sees a look of pure bliss on her face, her eyes are half-lidded and she’s panting hard. He grabs her by the throat again and kisses her so she can taste herself. She moans against his mouth and passes her tongue on his lower lip. Toji breaks the kiss and brings the fingers he used to finger her into her mouth. Maze doesn’t hesitate and sucks on his fingers, humming while looking him in the eyes. "Mmm… you’re such a naughty little secretary." She nods while she keeps sucking. He removes his fingers and pushes her back on the desk. She knows what’s coming and she can’t wait, even though she’s still sensitive from the orgasm.

He grabs his dick and rubs her pussy lips with the tip. Without wasting another second, he slides inside of her, which causes her to gasp and let out a long moan of pleasure and pain from his girth. "T-toji... you're stretching me.." He only chuckles as he moves his hips slowly but deeply. "That's the point. I want your pussy to be able to only take my dick and mine alone. I'm gonna fucking ruin you, sweetheart. You want that?" She's so lost in the pleasure that she simply agrees with him. "Yes... yes... ruin me..."

He groans and grabs her hips "Good girl, now shut up and take it." After that, he goes faster and harder, which makes the desk rock hard. Maze is completely lost in ecstasy. He's stretching her in a way she never thought could be possible from a single person, his thick tip keeps poking her cervix as if it's trying to go deeper inside her, it's too much. But it feels incredibly good. All she can do is take his treatment and moan loudly, her voice resonating in his office along with the skin-on-skin noises. Then he pulls out and flips her easily. He grabs her thick ass, smacks it, and buries himself inside her again.

He keeps the same pace from earlier, which makes Maze moan louder from the new angle. He makes both Maze and the desk rock fast with his powerful thrusts. Her eyes roll to the back of her skull as downright pornographic moans and random words escape her mouth "Ouuuu Toji…. It feels so good…" He groans pushes her flat on the desk and grabs a hold of her hair while keeping his thrusts unforgiving. Her ass claps and jiggles against him, her curves drive him crazy. "You love being fucked senseless like a whore uh?" She nods like a dumbass, his dick has turned her brain into mush "Yes… yes… yessss… I love when you fuck me like a whore…" she says in between moans, barely even able to speak properly as tears come running on her face to ruin her makeup. He lets go of her hair to grab her cheeks so he can have a better look at her. He sees the face of a woman who having the best sex of her life, her mascara running down her cheeks. And this beautiful, dumb look on her face makes his cock twitch. With the way her pussy keeps pulsating around him he can tell she’s getting close to cum again.

So while he’s still inside her, he lifts her and walks towards the massive windows of his office. Maze gasps in surprise, but she can’t deny how much she loves being picked up so easily and manhandled by Toji. Once they’re at the window, he puts her down and pushes her against it, her tits pressed against the cold glass sends shivers down her spine, a sweet contrast to the hot temperature of her body. Toji keeps the same pace, making Maze moan again, her cheek, hands, and breasts pressed hard against the surface. Eventually, she feels another orgasm coming, and her pussy clenches around his cock, swallowing him completely. "Toji… I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum…" He grabs her hips tighter, his pace staying the same "I know baby I can feel you getting close. Cum for me. Cum on my dick." It doesn’t take her too long after that to come undone again, a loud cry of pleasure resonates in the room. Her legs are shaking uncontrollably, she’s sweating like crazy and her breath becomes ragged. This orgasm was so powerful that she was barely able to move again. After a few more thrusts, it’s finally Toji’s turn to reach his orgasm. He grunts and quickly pulls out, strokes himself a few times, and cums on her ass, the warm semen dripping down her butt. He wraps his arms around her waist and pants against her neck. "That was amazing, right sweetheart?" She doesn’t even answer as her mind is now clear, and regret instantly hits her like a truck.

‘Oh God. What have I done?’

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

---posting to the correct blog lol---

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After the week you’ve had, the need for a strong drink is irresistible. You’re almost there. Friday. You just need to make it through the day. There’s only one obstacle in your way. Mr. Stark. 

You bring him his ritualistic cafe au lait just after noon. He has an airpod in his ear, chattering on a call as he clicks around his floating computer screen. You keep your head down, making yourself invisible as you place the cup on a coaster. He leans back in his white leather chair as he speaks, reaching quickly for the coffee. 

“Yeah, Rogers, maybe, I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to invest right now. I got enough eggs to hatch...” Stark sips as he rests his other hand on his thigh.  

Before you can retreat, your eyes flick over and see the moving image on the monitor. You don’t react. You just backpedal and return to your desk, gently closing the door as to not disturb your call. You might commend him for multitasking if it wasn’t so inappropriate. 

You cup your chin and zero in on your screen, fighting the images seared into your eyes. The woman’s ass spread wide as the man... nope. Not today. 

Mr. Stark’s reputation is less than pristine. Everyone knows how he is but he’s the CEO. Who’s going to say anything? Or do anything? Coming into the role, you expected a demanding workload and a finicky boss, but not everything else. Not the blatant disregard for others and brazen lack of shame. 

You glance over at his door before you dare to take out your phone. You lay it next to your keyboard and keep your hand under your chin. You look down as you press to unlock and read the messages from the other girls. Izzie can’t make it, she’s out in the field, but the others are down. Awesome. 

You scroll through the gif catalogue and send a celebratory reaction. Mr. Stark’s door startles you and you slide your phone up under your monitor stand to try to hide it. You put your attention back to the calendar and swoop your mouse around the pad. 

Stark approaches as he slurps loudly over the brim of his cup. You feel the weight of his gaze and meet it shyly, pushing your glasses up your nose as you sit up. You can’t quite smile as your jaw locks up. 

“Sir?” You greet him in confusion. 

“So, Friday,” his brown eyes dip down to consider the depths of the mug, “got any exciting plans?” 

You look left then right and back at him. Your brow twitches in surprised confusion. Mr. Stark never asks about your personal life. He only ever talks about his private jet and high-life getaways to locations you could never dream of. Your cocktails are meagre compared to his elite lifestyle. 

“No, sir,” you say. “How about you?” 

He smirks and tilts his head. He slowly prowls around your desk and you swivel your chair to face him as he nears the corner to your right. You tilt to look up at him. 

“Ah, the usual, there’s this sweet little blonde thing down in Barbados waiting for me,” he chuckles as his eyes rove over your desk, “no dates? No... partying?” 

“Sir, I... just errands.” 

“Uh huh,” he clucks and reaches for your mouse. Nope. He swerves and swipes up your phone as it lights up beneath the stand. Shoot. “Social hour, huh?” 

“No, sir. I just shut off an alarm and forgot--” 

“You’re a bad liar, stop it,” he warns as he brings your phone up and reads the messages popping up, “girls’ night?” He looks at you over the cell, “that sounds like more than errands to me.” 

“Well, sir, I didn’t think... it was important.” 

“Must be if you’re texting at work,” he tosses the phone at you and you catch it as it lands in your lap. “You been to Barbados?” 

“Barbados? No?” You answer dumbly, no expecting the question. 

“Wanna go?” 

You hesitate. Is this some trick? It’s like when he was taunting Walker last week, baiting him into giving answers that made him look stupid.

“Sir, maybe one day, I guess, I never thought--” 

“No thinking. I know you’re not that fucking simple,” he reaches to poke your forehead and your recoil. “Don’t get too fucking crazy tonight, sweetheart, jet takes off at six. In the morning.” 

You frown and shake your head. He can’t mean what you think. 

“Should I have your luggage--” 

“Be there,” he demands and gulps back a mouthful. He slams down the empty mug on your desk and backs up, “if you’re still thirsty, they got cocktails on the plane.” 

He turns and strides away, whistling as he checks his watch. He sighs as he approaches the office door, pausing, “when Odinson gets here, make sure he has everything he needs.” He glances back with a smirk as you peer around your monitor, “and smile, sweetheart, you got nice lips.” 

You stare after him as he closes his office door and you sit back. You chew your thumb and look down at your phone. You sniff as you watch the others messages stream over the screen. Now you know better than to have your phone out at work. Now you get to do overtime. Fun. 

You rub your cheek and roll close to your desk. You’re not going to miss tonight, even if Mr. Stark wants to take away your weekend. You’ve been waiting for this and you need the boost before you face whatever he has planned.  

A message blips up in the corner and you click it, not daring to ignore Mr. Stark’s icon. The window spreads over the screen and the message floats over the reply bar. ‘Don’t forget a bikini’. 

Huh? 

[eelnoise]

insight theory

zoro x afab!reader smut. 18+, NSFW MDNI cw: possessive zoro a little, hair pulling, piv sex, creampie, biting an: drabble cuz im horny and NOT OKAY AND NEED DUBIOUS BACKSHOTS ASAP. also do i know what the fuck the title means? absolutely not i made it up lol

zoro’s mastered the art of multitasking.

slamming his hips into yours and continuing his duty of keeping watch, keeping a near perfect balance between scanning the star-speckled sea and the ripple of your ass as he bounces you off his cock. 

he bends you in ways only he can, chasing any whim, any angle that he wants. you’re at his mercy, and he knows it. each muffled whine or choked cry from you working as initiative to go harder, faster. your sounds of wanton pleasure ring in his ears and it makes him feel as if he’s tipsy from the most potent of sake. 

zoro knows he’s hitting you in just the right spot, the one that makes your toes curl and tears leak from the corners of your eyes. your hands grip the open windowsill as tightly as your body will let you, though as well used and thoroughly filled as you are you fall face first into the bench below it.

fingers dig into your waist to hold you steady against him while the palm of his hand presses down on your back, warm and forceful - a wordless dare to keep your body in that pretty arch he loves to see you in.

he laughs, a dark chuckle that oozes of elated satisfaction. “too much for ya?” zoro teases, the rough edge of his voice cutting through you like a white hot flame and making you loudly moan out in ecstasy as you weakly shake your head. 

“that’s what i thought,” he adds with a smack to your ass before kneading and squeezing the reddened, tender skin beneath the pads of his fingertips. “i know ya can take it.” and it's true, zoro knows you can take what he’s giving you, well trained and shaped to fit his cock and his alone. 

the more possessive side of him rears its head at the thought, and the hand on the small of your back reaches up to grasp your hair. his hand tangles in your already messy strands, and the wail that passes through your long swollen and very much loved lips nearly makes him lose control.

zoro’s pace is ruthless, and in the throes of pleasure you see fireworks behind your eyes. you’re close, so, so close - and he knows. he always knows. with his fist still full of your hair, zoro leans forward, yanking your head back enough to growl into your ear. “gonna cum for me, pretty thing?” and no longer do the words fall from him do you cry out his name in a series of jumbled syllables, falling over the edge and plunging head first into your orgasm.

it hits you hard, hits you fast, and leaves you a heap of jellified flesh on the bench. zoro smirks into your hair and releases his hold on your tresses to wrap his arms around your middle, chasing his withheld high now that he’s deemed you fucked stupid enough. 

his breath begins to fall out of rhythm, soft grunts and groans that call out to that sweet finality within the confines of your tight, squelching pussy. his head rests in the crook of your neck, and in a shock to your senses, zoro bites down on your shoulder. between your cries of overstimulation from his assault on you and the sudden pain of teeth digging into your flesh, he cums - filling you and painting your inner walls with his spend.

zoro resists the urge to simply collapse atop you, instead quickly twisting your bodies over until you’re snug in his lap. the evidence of your rendezvous pools between you, some even trickling off of the bench and into the floor below, though cleanup is far from your mind as you’re pulled close to a broad, warm, sweat drenched chest. 

he shows his affection and gratefulness for you by pressing a long kiss to the top of your head and a nuzzle into your neck. the gestures work as a million-and-one silent words of praise, of admiration, of love. and never before have you felt it so raw and so real than with zoro.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

okay so i'm the anon who first brought up memory wiping shifter!stan and i just need to ramble because this more canon-adjacent version of the timeline has been festering in my brain now.

- the stealing of ford's identity part is fun bc now stan can actually perfectly replicate his appearance, extra fingers and all. probably makes it into part of his gimmick at the shack (why does he need the shack if he has money in this au? idk man i haven't figured that out yet but he has it). that does create an issue when dipper finds the journal and brings it to stan bc of the finger thing, but stan just flat out denies any connection to it. he can't just confiscate the thing though bc that would be suspicious as fuck, so he spends a significant amount of time trying to get his hands on it to make copies without the kids noticing.

- he probably loses a bit of his shifting flexibility due to having a more permanent shift (he's at least less flexible than he was during his drifter days) but he still does some stretching down in the lab. i also imagine that when he's down there he uses his shifting as a way fidget/stim while he works. he also probably uses it to keep an eye on the kids a non-zero number of times.

- i'm imagining the reveal happening in scary-oke, similar to the canon reveal there. this is also when he can finally take the journal for a bit, using the excuse that dipper did something actively dangerous with it and this is the punishment. he still gives it back when he has his copies.

- looking over that journal he finds out about shifty and he is immediately staging a rescue

- ford probably finds out about stan's shifting when he comes out of the portal and stan has 6 fingers. it's... tense.

- i think if maurice is involved they probably know about the whole situation from investigating stan's fake death and/or stan just telling them bc if there's one person stan can trust with that information, it's probably them. stan continues to call them twice a year and they continue to pretend they aren't invested. maybe they can get in on freeing shifty.

i'm just!! foams at the mouth because i can't write for shit but oh man. oh god. this au is killing me

Shapeshifter Stan is so fun. I'll probably write the next (and maybe final) chapter when i'm done with the next cat Stan short.

More under the cut, because it got very long

Stan stealing Ford's identity is definitely him becoming Ford in a very literal sense, letting his original base form disappear forever at 17. Because he thinks Ford knows he's a shapeshifter, and he'll just seamlessly transition them once Ford gets home. I imagine it followed the original timeline with him showing up with his face covered, then quickly shifting to look like Ford with minor differences and revealing his face so he wasn't embarrassed about his baby face. He makes the shack to launder his own money so that it doesnt appear that Ford just got a million of dollars from nowhere, and because he doesn't want to continue his brother's research without him. So from an outside perspective Stanford Pines had a mental break, and started giving tours (just like canon lol). Stan makes everything fake, because he doesn't want to get on the bad side of any real supernatural creatures hanging around. As for the journal, I imagine Dipper runs up and shows it off, and Stan says its nonsense from when he 'went crazy in the eighties! nothing to worry about!' but he also can't take it without looking suspicious. Now the b plot becomes not 'who's the author' but 'what happened to Grunkle Stan that he forgot all his amazingly real research.' Stan still has to try and steal the book without notice, but can also shapeshift into the twins so its not an impossible mission, just very difficult.

Stan definitely becomes less flexible, but not terribly so. Limbs have always been his bread and butter, and he makes himself stronger and fireproof while working on the portal. Gives himself extra hands to multitask, the ability to climb better to reach the higher mechanics. The portal probably looks better the OG Stan's, just because he has more maneuverability. He also 100% spies on the kids in the 'hands-off' stalker raising technique he was raised with. Closes the Shack down and turns into people to follow the twins around and keep an eye on them.

In keeping with the 'no one realizes he's a shapeshifter until his mind is wiped' angst, the reveal is that he "did" write the books, but that they became dangerous, similar to Stan's 'this stuff is dangerous I'm not an idiot' speech. He still takes the journal to 'reminisce' but gives it back, saying that he knows the kids have been using it to keep themselves safe. Claims any lapse in memory as 'it was the eighties and I went through a rough patch and forgot a bunch of things'. Dipper thinks cult (blind eye that falls through) Mabel thinks mental break (official story but also wrong).

Now the question about Shifty is tricky, because Stan would want to rescue the poor kid his brother treated as a pet(Which is weird, because Ford knew about shapeshifters, but maybe he didnt realize they were the same species because he never saw the form Stan was born with), but I think it would happen after the bunker episode, so that the kids still get that shapeshifter experience. Stan goes down, sees poor Shifty is still a popsicle, and calls a bunch of his circle to help him out, as this is a special case. They'd probably come in, unfreeze him, then get him out of Gravity Falls and rehabilitate him in a more social Shifter group. Stan wouldn't use Fords form here, as he wouldnt want to cause a scene, but would explain that the man who sorta raised him isnt around anymore, and to try and find a new life out on the surface.

For the portal reunion, Stan explains he 'got an extra finger' and Ford brushes it off as a fake or medically transferred in a way too try-hard move of stealing his identity. Because Stan wouldn't look exactly like old man Ford, as he's had to guess how Ford's changed over the years, so his hairs still full grey and he looks slightly different. Ford 100% does not realize Stan's a shapeshifter at this time, but Stan doesnt realize that Ford doesnt know either, still making vague references to being a shapeshifter that aggravates Ford because he thinks Stan is being childish, then Stan thinks that because of Fords experience with Shifty that maybe he doesnt like Stan anymore in a big circle of miscommunication.

Maurice 100% knows whats going on (maybe not about the portal specifics, but enough) and only some of that is from Stan calling them. The rest is from his constant spying on Stan. So they know that Ford is missing in such a way that Stan is working on retrieving him, just not about Bill and the doomsday device in Stan's basement. Maurice does get his two or more phone calls a year and calls on birthdays. Probably also helped find a circle to adopt Shifty, since they're fairly well connected. There's a fifty-fifty chance Stan has a younger spawn-mate at this time as well, but they wouldn't come into the story more then "please let me talk to them, i want an actual shapeshifter sibling, please please please!"

EXTRA: Stan would not have any spawn at this point, because he'd be focused on the portal and getting Ford back. Maurice becomes the 'and when am i going to see you spawning? you have a very rare talent you might be able to pass onto future spawn.' parent, always nagging Stan about his lack of spawn, despite being 'very genetically desirable' (Their way of saying attractive lol, because of Stan's limb growing). The parent who demands grand kids basically.

[youling-the-ghost]

it's ok Emu...I have two monitors open right now and both of them are on tumblr and have sfth-related posts open on both tabs

you may be chronically online but at least you don’t have tumblr open on your phone AND laptop right now

[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

[cherie-doll]

Heheheh hello Cherie 💖💖💖

In the spirit of October 31st, I push forward this to you

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSje5TvQF/

Cosplaying or doing something scary to scare the COD men MWHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA

As usual stay blithe and healthy 💕💕

the reaction these men have kills me, thank you for the good wishes hope you stay happy and healthy during these times <33

𓏴𓏴 Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves

Ghost

The second one's reaction to his wife gives Simon

You cannot live a day without tormenting that man

What is the reason for you always doing this to him?

In the moment, he was caught with his guard down and almost used a dangerous maneuver on you

Thankfully, he stopped as soon as he realized it was just you playing a joke on him

Will just stand there and stare at you on the floor dying of laughter

Soap

Usually you're at the receiving end of a joke or prank because of Johnny

If you want to successfully scare him, planning it out won't work because he'll follow your string and know what you're doing before you can scare him

It's got to catch him off guard, you opt for the simplest prank you can think of and just scaring the living daylights out of him when he gets into the car

Not even your kid who was in the backseat scared as bad as Johnny did

You got him good but later had to constantly be on guard because he would get you back

Gaz

Kyle waking up to see you "possessed" nearly gave him a heart attack

He knew you'd try something around this time of the year but certainly not in the middle of the night when he was half-asleep and could barely see in the dark

He really thought he would have to call someone to perform an exorcism on you

Was literally begging you to stop

Slept with salt on the bedside table just in case, he don't play around with that stuff

Roach

This one wasn't even intentional

You liked messing around with your makeup before getting in the shower and he just so happened to walk in at the wrong moment

He'd already sprinted into the bedroom before you cornered him and told him it was you

Horrified he asks what was wrong with your face before you explain it was just makeup

Give him a warning lol he's easily surprised

Alejandro

The first one gives me Alejandro vibes

You've sent him out for groceries and like the obedient and sweet man he is, he'll go out even if he's busy

To him, your cooking is the best and he can't ever get tired of your acts of love for him so he goes without you having to ask twice

Mind you, he's multitasking whilst running this quick errand so when he comes back home on a phone call and you scare him like that, the unfortunate person on the other end of the line just lost their hearing that day

He apologizes at least a hundred times for throwing the grocery bag at you

Rudy

Scaring Rudy whilst he's taking care of your baby is straight up mean but it's funny

The way he calls your name out, concerned whilst holding the baby

Don't come at him for leaving the baby alone in the room, he just put the baby down in the crib before running out to see what the hell was wrong

Until the adrenaline kicked in and he ran in the opposite direction when you came after him leaving the baby in the nursery

Phillip Graves

Recently, you've been really into cosplaying whatever movie you've watched

Decided it'd be funny to dress as the nun from The Conjuring 2 as you watched the movie by yourself because Phillip could brave many things except the supernatural

He was used to your "normal" cosplays but he nearly pulled out the Bible out when he saw you perched on the end of the bed

Initially, the sight of you in your costume did scare him but he knew it was you

Didn't stop him from running when you hissed and launched at him

[liriostigre]

Your letterboxd bio 😭 I can't, tell me a useful tip, I really can't pick a book or watch a movie because I'm always itching for my phone

For context, the bio in question says "fix your attention span or die" (reference to David Lynch's "fix your hearts or die.") But pls don't die lol instead you should kill your cellphone 😬👍🏻

Get real about social media detox: delete apps, limit screen time, turn off notifications.

Avoid multitasking. Everyone thinks being able to multitask is a flex but it's really not. It's not good for the brain, look it up. So, one task or activity at a time, unless it's something reasonable like listening to music while walking or exercising or cleaning the house.

You need to put your phone away while you're watching tv or a movie, or reading or painting or knitting or doing whatever that doesn't require a cellphone. Just put it away! You really don't need to have that thing on your lap while you're watching a movie. I know this sounds like "just do it, it's not that hard" but there's really no other way lol. Just take a deep breath, maybe check your notifications one last time, and then put it away, out of reach.

Reading will save you so don't give up. Try the Pomodoro Technique—focused work during 25 minutes + take a 5 minute break. But you can start as low as 5 minutes. Set a timer and read for 5 minutes, then try 10, the following week 20, 30.

And let people know (people you talk to often; family and friends) that you won't be available for a couple of hours and that if there's an emergency they should call you and not text you. This is very important! You can't let everyone assume you're going to be available at all times just because you own a cellphone!

I hope this was helpful 🩷

[vitaminseetarot]

PAC: What Hobby Should You Begin Next? 🎨🛶📯

Sup y'all, it's time for a new pick a card reading (this one's especially for you night owls out there as I'm posting this at midnight lol). Ideally, I'd like to post one PAC every week after this but eh, lettuce see about that. 🥬👀

This pick a card was inspired by the remaining energies of late Taurus season. The grass is bright, the air is warm, the flowers are blooming, and it's brought out the artist in me. While I've been finishing a leisure painting, I stopped to draw out some cards to help out anyone who's in the mood to do something fun in their spare time but could use some direction or guidance.

Pick any one of the four Prism Oracle cards below, or its corresponding crystal/emoji, to see what hobby you could explore next, or if there is a hobby you enjoy that is calling for your attention:

Pile 1 - Consciousness + Moonstone 🌙 Pile 2 - Happiness + Carnelian 😊 Pile 3 - Creativity + Amethyst 🎉 Pile 4 - Determination + Citrine 🧭

Pile 1 - Consciousness + Moonstone 🌙

77 Beginnings, Sound+Resonance+Frequency, The Musician, Capricorn Rising - Aspire; Page of Swords, Page of Wands, 9 of Cups, Knight of Swords, XI Justice

Wow, pile 1, I think you have the most obvious answer of all four piles. You're very drawn to pursuing something musical. It could be in a variety of ways. You might try singing, writing a song, playing an instrument, learning to dance, or perform in musical theater (the purple curtain in the Justice card definitely brings theater to mind). You could enjoy collecting vinyl records, or producing music through special programs and apps. You may desire to publish your music online, or dream of going big on stage and signing major contracts with labels. Two Pages tells me you're most likely into more than one thing, as plenty of musical artists can multitask.

Your pile was the only one to get two Prism cards at first as Anxiety initially wanted to pop out. It's also clear that with two Pages and the Beginnings card, you're very new at this hobby. There's an over awareness of this fact, that on some level you may not know where to even start. There's some doubt I sense that you feel you can't be at the level you wish to stand on. Capricorn energy wants to reach for the very top of the ladder in accomplishment; it is a steady energy although not intent on settling. I get that there are many people here who greatly look up to an artist and wish to have their same talents. Try to look past the smoke and mirrors of all the top 40's singers and know that music is way more accessible than it's made to look.

Try embracing the newness of this pursuit, pile 1. It's okay to be a little lost, or feel that there's a long way to go. The only way to go pro is to start small and grow. There are a lot of free resources online for learning music (try out musictheory.net for free lessons) and free vocal technique lessons on Youtube. Some people are very lucky to have the chance to start learning at a young age, but if we were to set a rule stating that only those who did so could play, that would leave a lot of creative geniuses and successful musicians out of the frame. If you're learning to play the keyboard, practice one song or even one note at a time (doesn't have to be Chopsticks, lol). Consistency is key.

When the inspiration and joy to explore music finally strikes you, take the time to really dive in and make something small. If you're trying to write a song, start with a jingle. If it's music theory you want to go over, start with just 1 lesson and see how it feels. If you're learning to dance, begin with warm ups and slow music before working on the more intense songs. Are you looking for writing inspiration? Keep plenty of notes on hand and learn how to identify music so you can easily write a melody down (there are empty music notebooks for this). If this is something you would like to do in the long term, then continue to practice with that perspective by not overdoing it to compensate for "lost time". You are exactly where you need to be on your creative journey.

Pile 2 - Happiness + Carnelian 😊

66 The Selves, You Belong Here, The Wise One, Cancer Moon - Intuit; X Wheel of Fortune, Sagittarius ♐, VI The Lovers, 9 of Pentacles, XVI The Tower

What's going on, pile 2? With the Selves card above Sagittarius, I'm getting that a lot of you may be interested in pursuing theater or comedy, whether that's stand up or it's simply channeled through the projects you create. Your next hobby may involve incorporating a lot of humor into what you do. This pile is the most multifaceted of the four, with many differing hobbies, so I'm going to list a variety of different talents, but what binds them all together is the need to express one's own (very) strong opinions for the world to see.

You may want to be a photographer who documents unusual things, or write something that makes a powerful statement. There's a need here to let go of any of the anxieties that come with expressing your authentic self, because while those feelings are natural, listening to them too much will dampen your creative drive. This is the group that wants to make very surreal graffiti art or provocative dance routines. With the Tower card, here, I feel there's a need for the shock and awe to get your inspiration buzzing. On the gentler side, I can see some of you getting into something nature based like flower printing and permaculture but the caveat is that it's a reflection of your genuine self and beliefs in some way. With Wheel of Fortune, some of you may feel an urge to learn about tarot or pendulum reading, as these things are typically categorized as "unusual".

You may also get into traveling to stay involved in your hobby, or it requires roving about in some way. To break down creative blocks, it might help to actually move yourself to a different location. It doesn't necessarily involve moving to a whole new place, it could just refer to another part of your home or you may benefit from walking or dancing to decompress. I feel that moving your body will stimulate your creative ideas to flow through. A small number of you may have considered trying out extreme sports like free climbing or parkour. I don't really need to mention that these can be incredibly dangerous, so some of you may like something similar like skateboarding or gymnastics as well. It doesn't have to be intense, just active.

With the Lovers, there also exists a social aspect to your hobby. You may be drawn to share you hobby with a friend or with partners. It will greatly help you to be in an environment that supports your avant-garde tastes and not settle for less. It's not always easy to put shocking art with profound messages out there for the world to make sense of it, though some make it seem that way. It's easy to pretend that negative feedback doesn't get to you, but only accept constructive criticism as that will feed you more than shocked reactions. You cannot afford to have others in your life discourage you, as your skill sets require a lot of space for growth. Nourish relationships that want to celebrate your talents with you. Find a community that loves what you love, and wants to see you happy with what you do. Embrace the wild side of your artistic abilities.

Pile 3 - Creativity + Amethyst 🎉

54 Security, the Messenger, The Aspirant, Aries Sun - Assert; 2 of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, 0 The Fool, Aquarius ♒, Virgo ♍

Hello, pile 3. With the 2 of Pentacles, many of you may want to explore a hobby that is both online and offline, or the internet and social media are major components. If you like making artwork, you could be into digital art or simply want to upload images of your offline work for others to see. With Virgo, some of you may have a lot to say, by starting a blog or online journal documenting your life or interests, or you could try out freelance editing. If you were a youtuber, you could be really good at creating epically long videos about niche topics, or short videos explaining how to do a certain task (like tiktoks that showcase a person's routines and what cleaning products they recommend).

I see that this is the pile of innovation, as the Creativity card shows a lightbulb. You could have various ideas pop up in your head, only to feel unsure of how to approach them. Your attention span could split into a variety of different mediums for getting the idea out. Aquarius wants to take its genius energy and spread it around the world. For a lot of you, social media will support your ideas by broadcasting them. Your hobby may directly involve interfacing with others; your creative spark is not for hiding away. Web design, for example, is a hobby but it involves creating something that others will directly interact with. Your work is meant for a wide audience, should you choose to put yourself out there.

This may not always be easy for you, since there could be a pull towards more stable and predictable activities. There's a nervousness here, kind of like imposter syndrome. You may get a really cool idea for a mobile game app before you or someone else goes "but that's an unrealistic goal to spend so much time and effort on", followed by, "how could I ever make something like that?" The thing is, you can be the most talented, skilled, and experienced person when it comes to a subject, yet still have these same worries. Imposter syndrome doesn't magically go away with a college degree, a new job, or 10,000 subscribers. It's completely normal, but make sure to not let your doubts tempt you into doing something more boring and unfulfilling. This is the pile most likely to try a totally new hobby that is unrelated to your other skills, it doesn't have to be realistic.

But also understand that it can take time for something to get really good. Your first fiction draft is gonna turn out clunky, or your app could be filled with bugs, but it's part of the process. There's no perfect time; when you get the urge to try, just try it! Reach out to a local community or chat group so you can get a realistic sense of how long it takes for projects and skills develop. Slam poetry may be a great outlet, so if you'd like to do that, attend an open mic and see how others do it. You are allowed to be imperfect with your hobby--if you wish to evolve your craft, remember the passion and curiosity that brought you to it.

Pile 4 - Determination + Citrine 🧭

57 Spiritual Guide, What Goes Around Comes Around, The Astronomer, Taurus Rising - Enjoy; 9 of Pentacles, Cancer ♋, Queen of Swords, Knight of Wands, Knight of Swords

How's it going, pile 4? So this is the most active and possibly athletic pile we have here. Staying in the house is not gonna work because something is itching you to get out underneath the stars. Could some of you be majoring or planning in major in STEM? I'm getting a lot of natural science here. With the Astronomer card, you could want to use your telescope to go stargazing or visit planetariums. Are you still feeling the buzz from all the aurora storm and eclipse hype? It would not surprise me if these events awoke an interest for you and now you're looking up when the next meteor shower will show up or when Saturn will be most visible in the sky.

Your next hobby needs or is the outdoors on some level. But Cancer energy is that of a homebody. The most laidback people in this group may enjoy relaxing hobbies like birdwatching or gardening. These hobbies could be spiritually fulfilling for you. I'm seeing someone wearing an apron outside, so could some of you be interested in grilling or being the host to a fun party in the backyard. Do people even have book club meetings in gardens? A lot of enjoying nature is simply finding a good spot and soaking in the scenery with no other goal in mind. Just being near trees and beach sides might be enough.

But I see a lot of you mainly wish to have an adventure and go far out in nature when the weather's just right. You could be thinking about hiking or backpacking out on trails. It all depends on your comfort level as we all have different tolerance levels. I don't know if geocaching and pokemon go are still popular, but they can be unique ways to engage with the outdoors. You could try guided nature tours presented by nature conservationists like the National Audubon, where you can identify and take photos of animals as you wander through the woods and plains. You may like a hobby that is seasonally specific, like swimming in warm waters or skiing down a snowy mountain.

Your hobby may have you think deeply about how humans connect with nature, exploring the ecosystem and how our actions influence our environment. Climate change can be a very serious and, for some, directly impactful topic to mull over. Remind yourself that as long as you're respectful (leave no trace), mother nature enjoys your company as much as you do for her. A small few of you may have the urge to travel to weird locations. Two knights in your reading suggest boldness. If you decide to visit an abandoned or haunted place, Queen of Swords says to please be careful and follow rules if it says no trespassing, and remember that abandoned places can be dangerous from faulty wiring and unstable flooring. Overall, I feel this pile just can't do with an indoor hobby. You have the motivation and courage to explore the vast beautiful world out there. It awaits you.

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