#just. should have been shorter. u know.

[ssruis]

“Sekai de ichiban ohime-sama” - the skinamarink

[teh-nos]

stopped reading a fic just there because it was insisting that thor & co went on many violent adventures pre-movies but of course left poor feeble loki behind cos he's a) feeble and b) blessed with a better understanding of imperialism than the rest, and there are a thousand other fics that also think this is obviously what happened but i think i may just have hit my limit on this one :\

[mishellii]

♢ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ♢

naruto, sasuke, shikamaru, kiba, shino, neji, iruka & kakashi

a/n: sooo,, i SHOUld be working on my uni essays and on the bf!neji texts BUT this had been sitting in my notes app for a while so i decided to post it ;D (the neji texts will come soon i promise). some are longer, some are shorter for which i apologise,,,,,, please ignore typos, i can't spell & enjoy MWUAH

likes & reblogs appreciated <3

warnings: some NSFW parts! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! :) also not proofread as usual

masterlist

♢ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴜᴢᴜᴍᴀᴋɪ♢

✿oh my baby boy

❀first off: angel. 100%.

✿because u are his angel u feel me

❀he can't go a day without telling u

✿then also just the basic baby

❀but mostly when he wants something from u or he's apologising for dumb stuff he's done

✿puppy eyes and all

❀and also during sexy time

✿it's his most used name for u there

✿fight me on this

❀big on his own self made nicknames for u

✿for instance: u fell down the stairs once?

❀"hey, stairs, how you doin'"

✿and just silly ones like: boo, pookie, apple of my eye

❀he's weird like that c'mon we been knew

♢ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ ᴜᴄʜɪʜᴀ♢

✿now this guy is a wild card

❀he'd prefer ur name through & through

✿but he'd slip in a casual babe sometimes which makes ur knees weak obviously

❀because he barely ever calls u that

✿if ur married he'd only call you his wife

❀doesn't even let you answer questions on your own sometimes just so he can hit them with

❀"well, MY WIFE, thinks you suck ass, so.."

✿during sex he can be quiet mean 

❀I DONT THINK in the derogatory way but more in a teasing way

✿"c'mon, sweetheart, look at me."

❀when ur just about to black out??

✿but like i said 

❀not big on pet names but he'll use them more often if he knows u enjoy it <3

♢ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ ɴᴀʀᴀ♢

✿pretty

❀just pretty bro.

✿not ALL THE TIME, especially not in public as i don't think he's big on PDA

❀but in the comfort of ur own 4 walls? definitely

✿now don't HATE ME for this but,,,

❀woman. and brat.

✿but only in petty situations, like when ur scolding his lazy ass and he hits u with a "go easy on me, woman, i just woke up."

❀or u've been going on his nerves while he's working

✿,,i'm busy, brat.''

❀in bed tho???

✿love or doll

❀i'm almost CERTAIN.

✿like,, can u imagine?? in his dumb fucking charming voice ???

❀PFFF i'm on my knees 

♢ᴋɪʙᴀ ɪɴᴜᴢᴜᴋᴀ♢

✿now this fucker

❀teasing names through & through

✿ur shorter than him? 

❀"hey, shortie, need help?"

✿ur taller than him?

❀"hey, giant, how's the weather up there?"

✿he's a DICK ok (affectionately ofc)

❀but he can be sweet too i promise

✿he's having fun with calling u bunny during sex or simply baby 

❀also ???? "okay, boss." when he's been annoying u all day and u finally snap at him?

✿he's a menace with nicknames i'm telling u

♢ꜱʜɪɴᴏ ᴀʙᴜʀᴀᴍᴇ♢

✿you probably guessed it and bully me if you'd like but,,,

❀bug or lovebug

✿come oooon he loves his bugs AND he loves you?? it fits PERFECTLY

❀not one to do it infront of other people either but in your private space he just wouldn't stop calling you one of these

✿i also see him using the regular honey but the abbreviation so hun because it's short and sweet and he doesn't like those long ass names

❀apologies if ur name is long LMAO mine is too tho

✿takes the hun into the bedroom but prefers a gentle love while having sex

❀shino's not a sweet talker in my mind, but the pet names make up for it FOSHOU

✿ALSO big brain idea i just had:

❀i think shino can't fully express his emotions verbally so before going on missions he definitely writes u letters and that's where he's blooming

✿''u keep me going everyday, sunshine.''

❀and it doesn't even matter if you have a bubbly personality or not

✿UGH lovesick fr

♢ɴᴇᴊɪ ʜʏᴜɢᴀ♢

❀this pretty princess doesn't even know ur name when ur alone with him 

✿ESPECIALLY when ur texting

❀sweetheart, love & darling

✿he'd make u fall in love over again whenever he calls u one of those i'm just saying

❀because he's always so sincere when he's talking to u it drives me crazy just thinking about it 

✿during sexy time too, he would NEVER

❀& i will die on this hill 

✿NEVER use any degrading names for u

❀ur his baby don't make him do that

✿even when ur fighting, he'd always address u in such a kind way i'm actually going insane

❀"have you had dinner yet, dear?"

✿ sedate me pls

♢ɪʀᴜᴋᴀ ᴜᴍɪɴᴏ♢

✿AAA this guy

❀soo,, like father like son,,, angel

✿u can't change my mind

❀being the kind hearted person he is, it just fits u can't tell me off

✿but i will also say he'd use some funny ones in private because we all know he's just a silly lil guy deep inside

❀i'm thinking toots & peach

✿especially when greeting u !! like ''ey, toots, how's it going?''

❀during sex he will be quiet awkward at the start of ur relationship, settling in angel as he's most familiar with it at first

✿but after some time he'd pull a babydoll or gorgeous on u

❀i mean,,, i'd cry but idk about y'all

✿oVERALL he loves using pet names and wouldn't be opossed to u calling him some sweet ones as well <3

❀call him handsome and he'll go through the roof

♢ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ ʜᴀᴛᴀᴋᴇ♢

✿AHEM

❀so this man,,

✿at the start of ur relationship he's such a shy lil bean so he'll only use your first name

❀but once he's been with you long enough he gets so so comfortable

✿starts of with the regular baby because u are his baby aight.

❀his most frequently used one too i'd say

✿but then he'd go like 

❀"hey, beautiful." "y'alright, sweetheart?"

✿and idk about u but i'd faint

❀HE KNOWS ABOUT HIS AFFECT ON U TOO

✿uses it against u during sex SO OFTEN

❀grunting a "there y'go, darling." into your ear with a sly smirk on his lips 

✿i'm (s)creaming

❀but he's a very private person so don't expect too much of that in public !!

✿a side from a "yes, ma'am" when u tell him not to die on a mission <3

a/n: i hope this doesn't SUCK ahemm,,, and i'll see you beans next time bye bye x

devider by @enchanthings

[lostintransist]

Can't Catch Me | A König One-Shot

König runs into a spot of trouble with the mob. But wouldn't you know it, his favorite barista is heading home and is willing to play along.

For @backseatsoldier *hugs, kisses, and hopefully König spends the night*

CW: 18+ Minors do not interact, kissing, ass smacking, suggestive themes

You stretched your neck as you walked the final stretch toward home. Two jobs, an early morning barista shift followed by a break, and then a half shift at a call center always left you drained. But between the two schedules, you had time to do two classes a day or settle at the school library and bust out homework before it was due. No matter the time the sun had always hidden itself away before you could leave the call center.

The shitty and small bathtub in your flat and a bath bomb someone had given you for Christmas two years back called your name. The well of the tub was so thin that water got trapped behind you as you emptied it. You forgot that until you went to stand up and a flood of water rushes over your legs and toes.

You are flung, quite literally, from your thoughts when you meet a wall nose first. Rubbing your nose you step back and look up, and up, and up. Oh! You know this wall! He comes by your coffee shop regularly enough and always gives K as his name.

“Oh! Iced chai with two espresso, sorry about that. I should have been watching where I was going.”

The tall, broad man glances behind him. His face is hidden by a surgical mask, as always. When he glances back to you a spark of something, something concerning, lights in his eyes.

“You know me, ja?” At your confused nod he continues, “How much I pay you pretend we together?”

Blinking rapidly is your only response before your mouth forms a “wha” shape.

“Five hundred enough?”

“Uh-u-sure?”

He rips the mask off, shoving it deep in his pocket before grabbing your right hand in his left and circling a long arm around you, caging you between the combined length of your arms.

“How was work love?”

He stares down at you expectantly. The sound of pounding feet reaches your ears, the volume rising with each step.

“Honestly love? It was exhausting.”

His eyes get wider the closer the footsteps get. You wrench the hat off your head, ignoring the hat hair you undoubtedly have. Slapping it down over his massive skull you have never been more thankful for what your mother always complained of as your ‘overly large, vagina-tearing noggin’. It’s a bit of a tight fit but the layer of change helps his shoulders relax a fraction.

“What made it so bad?”

You start walking as he continues the charade, tugging him along despite his clear resistance.

“So, you know how my boss is a complete asshole right?” He grunts and you continue, “Well he just hired his daughter to be the office manager, which first off is clearly a nepo choice but I’m just a part-time employee what the hell can I say about it?”

Two men dressed all in black and guns on their hips race past the two of you with barely a glance.

“Not much,” he agrees, ear tipped toward the retreating footsteps. “How much to go to your apartment until I can get a ride here?”

“Your name.”

He looks down at you, brows pinched together under the brim of your borrowed hat.

“König.”

“Thank you, König. Yes, you can come and hang out at my apartment until you get your ride scheduled.”

The stress from his shoulders and the pinched look on his face disappeared.

“Now tell me more, I thought you worked at the coffee shop.” He falls into step with you now, slower shorter steps keeping up with your slightly elongated to accommodate for him.

“I do, I work the early shift at the café and then have a few hours off for school and homework before I do my late-night job so I can make rent.” Bumping his thigh with your hip you continue, “What do you do other than running from gangsters?”

“Mobsters,” he countered, “Blow stuff up, mostly.”

“Mmm. Quite impressive.”

The sound of footsteps, speeding back toward you sent both your hackles up.

König leaned down into your ear, “How much to kiss you?”

Mind can’t keep up with all these jumps and you spit out the first number word you can think of.

“Hundred!”

He lets out a small laugh, pulling you tighter to him and moving you both forward as he directs your steps closer to the wall. Your back hits the wall as the men come into view. König’s lips are on your before you can think of much else.

Could a brain give a blue screen of death? That’s the only way you can describe the complete lack of function your brain produces when his lips meet yours. Movement happens by need alone and that need has you pulling him closer, fingers digging into the flesh at his waist as you lick the seam of his lips. His forearm lands next to your head as his knees buckle slightly.

The footsteps slow as they pass you but the wanton, and frankly, too graphic to be outside of a bedroom or a porno sounds shoot erupts out of you, sending them scurrying away. Some masculine cologne sweeps into your brain, killing off the last of your brain cells. You would climb him like a tree given half a chance.

“Six hundred,” he whispers as he pulls back slightly.

Eyes unfocused, you blindly reach out and grab him by the collar. Dragging him back to your lips you catch his lower lip between your teeth, pulling gently as you lean away. The tiniest sound escapes from deep in his throat, a spear thrown that landed directly in your needy bits.

“Seven hundred,” you breathed on his lips.

Breaths mingling König watches you watch him. The condensation of his breath warms and cools your face.

“Those kisses are worth a hundred a piece,” he whispers as if worship is his primary language.

Movement from the edge of your vision alerts you to the mob’s incoming presence.

“Pick me up, keep pretending. I can direct you to my apartment,” an edge of panic creeps into your voice as you force your eyes to not move from his.

He does as you command, hands so wide they nearly span the width of your thighs as he lifts you, knees hugging his waist and ankles locking behind his back.

The giggle that escapes you is real. You were too solid for nearly any other man to hoist you like this. He settles both arms under your butt, holding you close. Flopping onto his shoulders, kissing up and down his neck you count the doorways until you see the one before yours and bite gently on König’s earlobe. He pulls you tighter when you start to murmur.

“This next door is mine. They are still following but looking way less suspiciously at us. Smack my ass.”

König didn’t need to be told twice. The crack of his large hand across your backside made the men following flinch and turn away, confident now that the man they had followed half a block was not the person they were looking for.

You didn’t mean to, but your jaw tightened, pinching his earlobe tighter as you whine into his ear. He let out a groan that would haunt your masturbation sessions until you reached death, dildo in hand.

Letting go of his ear you rest back on his shoulder. He rubs out the sting of his smack; your inner walls clench at the care.

“First door is unlocked. Head to the top floor. I’m in six.”

He isn’t breathing hard when he tops the several flights of stairs, even despite the additional weight of your body.

When he lets you down it is with a slide down the length of his body, a slight bulge at his zipper confirms you weren’t the only one affected by the shared kisses. You spin around, focusing diligently on the task of unlocking the door. Throwing the door wide you step in and gesture to the space.

“Get comfortable, call your ride. I need to change and get ready for bed. I have to be awake in five hours for work,” you don’t turn as you stalk further into your small apartment.

Shutting the bedroom door you cover your mouth with both hands as you force the deepest breaths you can manage through your nose. After the tenth deep breath, you are calm enough to change. Your long pants and ugliest hoodie are your shields. A soft, wireless bra you pray is enough to keep the ladies from trying to claw their way to say hello and a clean, dry pair of underwear is the last of the changes.

Stepping from the bedroom you find König staring out the window and down at the street.

“Wanna watch a show while you wait for your ride?” You twist the inner portion of your hoodie pocket around one finger.

“Ja,” he nods and settles into one corner of the couch with three massive steps.

Turning on something calming, settling yourself on the other side of the couch, a pillow wedged underneath your head. You are drifting when his phone buzzes once.

He curses in what sounds like German before tapping your leg with two fingers.

“My ride is delayed. Can I purchase more kisses?”

Any sleep that might have been gathering fled like birds as a toddler ran full force toward them. You popped upright, looking over every bit of the man you could see in the shifting light of the TV.

The serious cast to his face decided your answer for you. Crawling into his lap, not unlike the way he carried you home less than an hour ago, you settle yourself pussy to penis. The layers of clothing between you would not prevent you from enjoying this stolen bit of time.

“König, I am going to do my best to bankrupt you,” your fingers creep up his arms as his hands settle on your waist.

“Gut.”

No more words are shared, only base noises, keening cries, and the wet sounds of sloppy kisses.

Preemptive tags because I know how much these two people love König: @demothers-empty-blog @machveil

Masterlist

[bloomseishiro]

TONGUE TIED AT THE THOUGHT OF YOU — NAGI SEISHIRO

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: nagi gets away with lots of things by sleeping, including not cleaning the classroom when it’s his turn to help out. too bad for nagi, you won’t let him get away with that. strange…that’s the first time this has happened to him.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, modern high school au/no blue lock au?, they are 3rd years, reader is shorter than nagi, NAGI MAKING READER ALL FLUSTERED AHH THIS GUY ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 3.0k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: nagi the shoujo male lead that u are !! i was kicking my feet and giggling while writing some parts of this :p 

Nagi Seishiro wasn’t known to have many friends. 

At least, that’s what you’ve heard from your friend who shared homeroom class him during your first year. He would fall asleep in class, not participate in after school activities, and didn’t even try to eat lunch or form study groups with anyone.

It was high school sacrilege, and, for some reason, you kind of admired him for it. How cool was it to not care at all about what others thought? As weird as your friends said you were for this, you honestly found Nagi Seishiro to be pretty cute. 

His messy, white hair and relaxed attitude… There was something about it you quite liked. It also helped he was tall and athletic-looking.

Still, there was no way you would act on it right now— You were certain, for one, that he didn’t even know your name despite being in two whole classes together this year. Somehow, even in the close proximity of a classroom, your paths have never crossed. 

That was, until now. 

“Y/N, Nagi. The two of you are on cleaning duty today,” said your teacher with a smile. “You can ask your friends if they want to stay and help, but it shouldn’t be too much today. Just a wipe-down of the tables and sweeping the floor.” 

Your jaw almost dropped at the announcement. You were ready for the school day to end without anything exciting happening, but then this happened. 

“Yes, Matsumoto-sensei,” you acknowledged, waving goodbye as your classmates left the room. “I’ll help clean with Nagi.” 

As the students emptied out, the teacher let you know she was going to grab a quick snack at the teacher’s lounge. By the time you were about to start cleaning, you noticed Nagi hadn’t moved from his seat. In fact, he hadn’t even lifted his head…

This didn’t exactly surprise you, but you hoped you wouldn’t have to clean the classroom all by yourself. 

You hesitated before leaning over his desk and tapping his shoulder. “Nagi? Are you asleep?” 

There was no response. 

Leaning in closer, you shook his shoulders even harder, squinting at him as if the intensity of your stare would be enough to wake him up. 

And to your surprise, perhaps it did. As if on cue, one of his eyes groggily opened. 

Proud of your success, you smiled. “Good not-morning, Nagi.”

He yawned, not lifting his head up from his desk. “Who are you?” 

“Me?” You pointed to yourself.

He nodded.

You frowned, but responded, “I’m Y/N. It’s our turn to clean the classroom today.” You blinked, feeling a bit hurt even though you knew it was silly. Nagi hardly interacted with anyone, even his teachers, unless he had to. It should be no surprise he hadn’t bothered to learn your name as well. But still, having that confirmed felt sort of…hurtful. “You know, that’s a bit mean.” 

His eyes widened a fraction but he kept his voice toneless. “Mean? How?”

“We’ve been in the same school for three years, I’ve even shared a few classes with you. Like this one. I guess it kind of stings you never bothered to learn my name.”

Nagi finally lifted his head from his desk, sitting in a mostly upright position. “Is that something you care about?” 

The phrasing was off, but it didn’t seem like he had any malicious intent behind his words. 

“I suppose I do care a little. You should make an effort to learn your fellow classmates names,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “I mean, I know your name, don’t I?”

“I guess,” he said, as if he didn’t even think twice about why people would know his name. “I didn’t know your name. But I did recognize you. Is that still mean?”

You nodded but your hardened expression faltered. Some people were bad with names, you supposed. “I guess I feel better hearing that…”

“I know you’re that person that tripped during the last leg of the relay race during sports day.”

His words brought the embarrassing memories rushing back and you cringed, hiding your face behind your hands. “I take it back. I’d rather you did not know my name and did not recognize me if it’s for something like that!” 

“Well, I do know your name now. Y/N,” he stated. “And that scene is kind of hard to forget. It’s like it happened in slow-motion. Like I was watching an anime.” 

You grimaced even more. Slow-motion? Could it get any worse? Why couldn’t he remember you for placing first in last year’s spelling bee? Or for getting the most chocolate’s received on White Day in Class 3-A? Of course, his singular memory of you had to be your most embarrassing high school moment thus far. 

“Okay, you know what? Since you’re awake now, maybe we should just clean,” you said in resignation, trying to change the subject. 

He shook his head. “Don’t wanna.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. You couldn’t just say you “don’t wanna” do chores the teacher assigned. That was unfair to the other students assigned the clean. In this case— You. 

“You still have to contribute,” you asserted. 

Nagi titled his head back to look lazily up at you. “Why? Would it be mean not to?” 

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he threw your words back in your face. “Yes, exactly! It’s nice to contribute. It’s mean to…not.” 

“How tiresome,” he sighed, finally standing up from his desk. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings again, though. So, okay. Where is the broom?” 

“You don’t know where the broom is?” 

Nagi shook his head. 

“Have you never been assigned to clean before?” you asked, incredulous. 

He shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe. Must’ve slept through it all.” 

“All your years of schooling and you got away with that?” You were appalled. Was this the power of pretty privilege combined with the aura of a strange weirdo? “That’s so unfair to the others who were assigned to clean with you, Nagi! We should help other people out, not ignore them if the task inconveniences you.”

You understood why your friends were so quick to judge you when you told them about your tiny, budding crush on Nagi. He was a peculiar one, after all. But it didn’t seem like he meant any harm. 

“You’re scolding me,” he stated, tone neutral and not accusatory. “That never happpens.”

You drew back, a look of reluctance taking over your face. For someone who spoke about fairness and what is right and wrong with such fervor, you would think the matters were bigger than simply cleaning a silly classroom. “You’re right, I was scolding you, wasn’t I? I’m sorry for being pushy. I have been told I can get a little naggy. Sorry.”

“Ah? Don’t say sorry. It’s fine. I’m just not used to it. But it’s fine.” 

You lifted a brow. “You’re a strange one, Nagi.”

He nodded. 

You made your way to the supply closet where the cleaning supplies were kept, gesturing for him to follow behind you. To your surprise, Nagi actually stood from his desk and followed suit. 

Maybe he just needs some sense talked into him sometimes.

“So here is the supply closet,” you said, opening the door. “The broom is, well, that thing with the long stick handle right there.”

“I know how a broom looks.”

You raised your hands defensively, a teasing grin gracing your lips. “Just checking, that’s all.”

“Hm.”

“And that up there, on the top shelf, is the cleaning spray,” you said, staring up at the bottle. “Now, who in their right mind would put it all the way up there? Did a giant clean the class last?!” You hmphed, trying to reach the cleaning solution so you could finish your class chores as quickly as possible.

Standing on you tippy-toes, you swatted blindly at the shelf, trying to push the items forward so you could have a better chance at reaching what you needed. You felt your fingers moving items around, and you were sure this plan was fool-proof. 

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let me—”

Too late. 

“Oh, no!” you yelped, flinching as you saw a full jug of liquid tipping over the shelf and falling closer to your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced yourself for the impact that never came. 

When you gathered the courage to open your eyes, you saw Nagi’s arms outstretched on either side of your head, grabbing the container of water (that was terrifyingly less than two inches away from your face) with his hands. 

You felt his warm chest against your back— Nagi had to lunge forward in order for you to not get hit, and this was the position you landed yourselves in. You tried hard not to breathe, but the smell of musk and vanilla flooded your senses. He was simply too close for you to ignore. 

Nagi made a small noise—perhaps one of amusement?—and said, “You’re clumsy, aren’t you?”

You didn’t have to read his mind to know he was thinking back to you faceplanting during the sports day relay race. Great, now he had another embarrassing moment for him to remember you by… 

“I’m not clumsy, you just happen to catch me at my bad moments,” you insisted, but there was no fight to your words. As you stared at death (also known as a plastic jug) in the eye, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. “Thank you for saving me.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and you expected him to back away, but his arms stayed on either side of your head. If Nagi didn’t move soon, you weren’t sure how long you would last before you passed out from both his scent and the warmth of his body. 

“Er, you can move now,” you said hesitantly. “I don’t think the jug will hit me anymore…”

“Eh. Too lazy.”

You blinked. “You’d rather stand with your arms upright because you are too lazy to put them back down?”

Nagi sighed, leaning forward until his chin plopped softly on the back of your head. “Yes.”

You jolted upright, eyes widen. Was he just casually leaning on you? This guy really was crazy!

“Nagi!” You shoved him away from you in a panic. He swayed, hardly bothering to catch himself. “You can’t just…do that!”

Placing the container of liquid back on the top shelf, he questioned, “Why? Is it mean?” 

With burning cheeks, you ducked away from his outspread arms, escaping the cramped supply closet. “Well, no. It’s not mean, but you’re in my personal space! And… I guess that can be seen as rude to some people. And— Are you teasing me?!”

You noticed the slightest change in his expression. From 100% blank to 95% blank and 5% amused.

Nagi shrugged in silent admission. That amused expression was enough of a tell.

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. “Maybe it was better before you knew of my existence. You can go ahead and forget my name now.”

“Nah.”

You quirked a brow.

“Too bothersome,” he explained. 

“It’s too bothersome to forget a name you didn’t even know ten minutes ago?”

He nodded.

Laughter bubbled out of you as you shook your head in disbelief. “You, Nagi Seishiro, are one of the strangest people I have ever met. Lucky for you, I’m the second strangest person I’ve ever met. So it doesn’t scare me.” 

Nagi grabbed the cleaning spray from the supply closet (he didn’t even need to go on his tip-toes to reach it from the back of the top shelf…) and handed it to you dutifully. 

“You are strange,” he agreed.

“Maybe that means you’ll remember me better.”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him before finding a clean rag to start wiping down the desk surfaces. “Well, now that we are officially acquainted, you should have lunch with me.”

“Huh? I don’t know…”

You frowned at him. “That’s no way to treat a new friend.”

Nagi lazily swept the same spot over and over again, not bothering to walk around the room. “I don’t like cafeterias. Too loud and annoying.”

“Where do you go for lunch then?”

He pointed up.

“The roof?” you guessed.

“Yes.” 

You tapped your finger to your chin. “Maybe I can join you, then? Just once a week, though. I still want to spend time with my other friends.”

Nagi considered it for a moment before deciding, “Sure.”

“Really?” you asked, not actually expecting him to agree to your whims. You wanted to throw it out there, yes. As weird as he was, Nagi was fun. And you wanted to get closer to him. But you didn’t think he would actually humor you.

“Yeah. Can you bring my lunch those days?”

You almost choked on air in astonishment. “Huh? Nagi, what the heck! You can’t just ask people that when you aren’t close to them yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because…it’s unfair?” you said uncertainly. “I can bring you lunch, but only if you do too. We can take turns!” 

“Sounds like a pain,” he sighed.

“Then deal’s off.”

He signed louder. “Okay, fine.”

“Fine?”

“We can, you know,” he waved his hand around, “take turns.”

You clasped your hands together, beaming in excitement. “Great! You have yourself a deal, then. I’ll see you for lunch on… Let’s say, Fridays?”

Nagi shrugged, sitting down with the broom in hand. “Sure. I’m tired.” 

“Good thing we’re almost done then.”

“Mhm.”

Once you finished wiping down the last desk, you put the cleaning supplies back in their proper places and gave Nagi a thumbs up. He was on the verge of lying his head back down on a desk and falling asleep. You giggled at the sight.

“Save that for your bed, sleepy head,” you chirped, tapping him on the shoulder. “We’re done now! you’re free to go home.”

“Walking home is…so tiresome,” he groaned, but followed you out of the classroom and into the front entrance of the schoolyard.

There was a nice, light breeze greeting you as your face hit the fresh air. The leaves were dancing along as you began to part ways with Nagi.

“I’m going this way,” you stated, pointing to the direction opposite of where he was facing. “So goodbye for now. But I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He lifted his hand in acknowledgement. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Nagi took one step forward before hesitating.

“Need something?” you asked.

“For lunch this Friday…” You waited patiently for him to finish his sentence. “I can bring lemon tea.”

“Tea?” you repeated. “For lunch?”

He nodded. “It’s easy and fast. My go-to meal.”

You attempted to hide the horrified look on your face. Tea as a meal? You began to understand why he asked you to bring him food on the days you were to have lunch with him. Still, you didn’t want to dismiss his efforts. 

“Okay, sure,” you agreed amicably. “You can bring lemon tea, and I can bring egg salad sandwiches. A collaboration!”

Nagis eyes brightened at the sound of that. “Yes, please. Can Friday come sooner?”

You giggled at his newfound eagerness. Food really was the way to someone’s heart, after all.

“It’s only two days away. It’ll come in no time,” you assured. “I hope you make a yummy lemon tea!”

Nagi rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… It’s just hot water and lemon. But I will try.”

For whatever reason, you get the idea that even trying was a lot for him. You couldn’t help but feel just a little bit flattered that Mr. “How Tiresome” was willing to put in some effort for your brand new friendship.

“That’s all that matters,” you said happily. “Now, have a goodnight, Nagi!”

“Night,” he said with a wave. But he still didn’t begin walking away. “Y/N.”

You paused in your steps and turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Can you wear the same perfume you had on today again? I smelled it in the supply closet. You smell good.”

��Huh— Nagi!? You can’t just say—” you cut yourself off. How many times have you said that just this afternoon? It was Nagi after all. He could say whatever he wanted and somehow get away with it. With your cheeks burning, you marched up to him. “Fine,” you scolded poking his chest with your index finger. You tried not to notice just how nice and muscular his chest felt. “You can say that to me. But you can’t just go around saying those things to…other people.” 

Your attempt at intimidation did not faze him. He placed his hand on the top of your head and ruffled it once. “I wouldn’t want to anyway.”

You blinked, speechless. “Wh-What do you mean?” His words were so blunt you might even begin to mistake them as flirting if he wasn’t careful. “Ugh, never mind! Nagi, you are so mean! You’ve been teasing me so much. Why?”

“Because of your reactions. They’re fun.”

“Fun?!” 

The side of Nagi’s mouth quirked up for a fraction of a second before he turned around and began to walk home without a further explanation. “Yeah. Fun. Teasing you is fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

You groaned in frustration, a smile forming despite yourself. “Okay, Nagi,” you relented. “You are so confusing, you know that? But, it’s fine.”

He let out a small snort. A hint of a laugh, maybe?

“Goodnight for real this time, Nagi. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

As you began to walk in the opposite direction, you couldn’t help but think of how he really was the strangest guy you’ve met. But for some reason, it just made the butterflies in your stomach flutter around even more. 

Nagi was a bit of a mystery, but you had plenty of time to solve it. And you were certain you’d enjoy every minute of it. 

[shuastar]

KISS 'ER UP (CHV) pt. 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like a blur. 

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

CRACK!!

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

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

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

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

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

What a way to spend a Friday night. 

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

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

The Kiss Cam. 

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

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

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

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

And yours. 

Stretched side by side on the big screen. 

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

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

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

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

The camera moves on. 

You do not. 

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

What the fuck just happened?

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

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

“Hey.” 

Your head snaps towards the voice and you nearly choke. 

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon nods. 

Well, Vernon Chwe is not Vogue, evidently. 

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

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

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

You blink. “What?” 

His lips curl into a half-smile. 

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

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

Your stomach flips when he smiles though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at your phone.

The most recent notification is from Instagram:

[vernonline followed you] 

Holy. Shit. 

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

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

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

Kiss Cam partner. 

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

The whistle blows for the start of the sixth inning. 

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

And you do forget about it. 

For a total of three days. 

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

1 message from vernonline

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

You never expected him to text you. 

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

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

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

And you almost laugh at the absurdity of his message. 

Vernon 버논  Hey…so this happened lol [attached]

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

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

You great. my legacy.

He’s typing out a response almost immediately. 

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

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

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

You real solid if u erase the whole scared shitless portion

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

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

Vernon: tbh gotta give it to the cameras

You blink.

Vernon: got to talk to u and everything

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon: nah

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

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

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

You: ur lying

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

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

You: i block and report u

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

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times. 

He wants you there? 

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

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

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

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

You: bold of u to assume i want them 

Vernon: guess i am bold then lol

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

You decide on something more neutral. 

You: wdym

Vernon: ill send u season tickets whatever seat u want

You almost fall out of your couch. 

You: wait be so fr rn

Vernon: bro i am

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

You: so am i paying or what

Vernon: on the house

You: lmfao … wait r u srs

Vernon: deadass as a dead rat 

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

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

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

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

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

You: we’ll see

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

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

Vernon 버논 noted

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

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

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

1 message from @/vernonline

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

Vernon: left smth for u at the company ticket booth

You blink. 

You: huh?

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

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

You: u sure about this?

Vernon: too late to take it back now

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

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

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

You can’t think straight. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon: ur here

You: whos to say

Vernon: i can literally see u tf

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

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

You: liar liar pants on fiar

Vernon: thats sum kindergarten shit

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

Vernon: cant ur too distracting

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

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

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

You: i am not afraid to block 

Vernon: yeah yeah ok wtv

You: do my threats not seem real to u

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

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

You: spicy glaze and whiskey highball

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

Your phone buzzes. 

You check it a little too quick. 

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

You: girl what

Vernon: honey garlic w cass draft

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

You: ur like those basic white girls on pinterest

Vernon: idekwtm

You: what?

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

You: ok whatever u say 

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

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

You: not a theory  a fact

Vernon: same thing

You: was that an invitation?

Vernon: idk only if it worked?

You should say no. 

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

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

You: i dont approve of ur draft choice

Vernon: ill adapt

Vernon: wanna meet me at the player entrance?

You: do i like sneak in or smth?? 

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

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

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

Until it buzzes as the game winds down. 

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

Vernon: 20 min player entrance don’t ditch lmao

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

You: yeah yeah dont keep me waiting

A minute passes. 

No response. 

It’s funny because you expect a response. 

But it’s typical, especially during a game. 

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

It shouldn’t mean anything. 

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

You should be caught up in it. 

But instead, all you can think about is him. 

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

You hadn’t planned on listening. 

Not really, anyways. 

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

And yet, here you are. 

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

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

You shouldn’t go. 

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

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

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

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

God, he looks good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And against your better judgement, you follow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vernon raises a brow. “Dramatic much?”

“I like to keep things interesting.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” Your head tilts. 

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

You blink. 

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

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

You blink down at his pants. 

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

But here it is. On him. 

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

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

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

But that would be ridiculous. Right? Right?

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

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

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

“You comin’ for my sweater?” 

“I’m coming for all of your sweaters. 

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

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

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

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

It suits him. Vernon Chwe. 

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

You stare at him from the entranceway. 

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

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

You don’t know why. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You totally are.” 

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

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

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

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

“Infinitely.” 

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

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

You hum, “Dunno. Are you paying?” 

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

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

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

“No, never.” 

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

“Hey, welcome back Vernon.” 

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “So I’ve heard.” 

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

And the conversation shifts into something easier – safer. 

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

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

Vernon grins. “Sounded cool.” 

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

“You gonna make one for me?” 

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

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

And you? 

Well. 

You weren’t expecting that. 

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

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

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

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

“Bought them,” you parrot. 

“Yeah? Why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He outstretches a hand to you. 

You instead grab the table edge, hauling yourself up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s above ground.” 

“Oh, wow, really?” You deadpan. 

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

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

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

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

Vernon looks wholly unimpressed. “Uh-huh.” 

“You doubt me?” 

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

You gasp, “No, I would not!” 

“Really?” 

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

You glance up. 

And you freeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “What?” 

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

Something in your stomach flips. 

And it’s definitely not the beer. 

You hesitate, just for a second. 

Then, finally, you nod. “Yeah. Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

But then he turns to leave. 

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

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

Vernon stills. Freezes. Stops. 

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

So you let him keep his distance. 

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

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

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

And then his response comes, quieter than before. 

“Anytime.” 

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

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

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

You give him a smile. 

“I’ll see you.” 

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

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

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

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

This is wrong. 

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

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

And wrong for all the right reasons. 

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

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

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

And then your phone vibrates. 

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

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

You squeeze your eyes shut again. 

He really needed to stop texting you like this. 

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

[diaryofaprettyprincess]

stepdad!price x innocent!reader

note: this is a prequel to a possible series with stepdad!price x innocent!reader (obviously). reader is of age.

note 2: price is 37 reader is about 18-19 (DARK STORY !!!!!), reader gets picked up by price, 6'5 beefy price, shorter reader

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

lying your head on your stepfather's shoulder, you pressed your front against his side--leg thrown over his as you two got comfortable on the couch as you began watching a movie. a blanket thrown over the two of you as you nuzzled your head further into his shoulder, nibbling on your lower lip as you focused intently on the movie.

price let out a shaky breath, his eyes glancing from you to the tv to you again.

don't do it.

she's forbidden fruit.

but she is the sweetest fruit of all.

he kissed the top of your head, and you replied with his action by taking his hand under the blanket and absent-mindedly twisting the rings on his finger.

one of his rings: the wedding band.

the wedding band from the wedding between your mother and him.

it seared his skin.

he could not help that he had gotten married to the wrong person.

it should have been you.

but he had to remind himself that you were much too young.

freshly an adult. and he was 37. 37.

what the fuck was wrong with him?

he can't help that he fell in wrong with you.

you were too young..too innocent. too pure. he had blood on his hands.

your small hands fidgeted with his large, warm ones as you traced his knuckles with your cold fingers, creating odd designs that warmed his chest.

he must have been much too into his thoughts, as you giggled at something that happened in the movie, grasping and ungrasping his hand as you continued to fidget with his rings.

you looked up at him, your lips so close to his as you smiled softly. everything in him wanted to capture your lips in a kiss. your first kiss.

but he knew he couldn't.

instead, his softened eyes watched your face with pure love.

you snuggled impossibly closer to him, practically on his lap.

"honey?" his voice was deep but soft. he cleared his throat.

your eyes watched the television, never leaving them as you hummed a small, "hm?"

price thought for a moment.

your mother was out for the weekend. he could have you now...

no.

"uh, nothin'." he concluded, and you paid no mind. his right hand crept down to your exposed thighs that were thrown over his lap. he tried to ignore the intense throbbing and want that thrummed under his jean zipper.

he slowly tickled his fingers along the span of your thigh, down your calf and to your frilly-socked foot as you cutely wiggled your toes. his index traced along the delicate laced-ruffles--then down to rub the inside of your foot.

after a bit, his hand made its way back up to the side of your thigh again, running his fingers along the soft skin.

he looked over at you again.

god, how were you so beautiful?

his whole being ached with want.

he loved you so much it hurt his heart.

"that a new bow?" he asked, pinching the pink knot at the base of your messy pony tail.

you nodded, excitedly. "mm hm! do u like it?"

you always wanted his approval, and he knew that.

"i love it, sweetheart, 's beautiful jus' like you." he smiled, watching your face darken with a red blush. you giggled shyly.

"thank you, daddy." you replied quietly, still fidgeting with his hand under the blanket.

daddy.

god, were you trying to kill him?

he knows you've always had a bit of a crush on him. ever since you two met.

and he's only a little ashamed to say he immediately fell for you when you both met.

he was with the wrong girl.

he loves times like this though.

it is probably bad to say, but he loves when your mother is gone.

it reminds him of a life he could have possibly one day with you...away from it all. he has the money to start a new life with you, just not the opportunity yet.

he loves when you walk into the kitchen, stuffie pressed against your chest, hair messy, lips n eyes puffy with sleep; his t-shirt on and your cute little pink panties.

he loves when your sleepy. you cuddle up closer to him.

just this morning you stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing at your tired eyes.

price was already dressed for the day--up since 6 am.

"good morning, sweet girl." his voice made your heart flutter.

you whined, padding to where he leaned back on the kitchen counter, wrapping your arms around his torso immediately. he picked you up with ease, kissing your face as you giggled.

he sat down on the couch as you straddled him tiredly, head pressed against his beefy chest.

"you're my favorite girl, y'know that?" he whispered, petting your hair.

it was true.

you were his absolute favorite.

and he was not just about to give that up.

[love-bitesx]

okay but imagine pavitr trying to play wingman for hobie to get with the reader and how funny/cute it would be

longer requests will be out this week, thank u all for the amazing support!! love you guys sm

: ̗̀➛ WINGMAN. hobie brown x reader headcanons

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

oh, he would be so annoying. in the best way.

you’d joined the spider society not long after the others, immediately clicking within the dynamic and it wasn’t uncommon for you all to just hang out in each others dimensions after a mission.

at first, hobie thought you’d simply peaked his interest because of your unspoken nature. constantly standing up for yourself and other spider people, putting people in their place if need be, just your general backbone intrigued him. you felt different to the others. that’s all he thought.

that was, until one afternoon, you were all packed into your apartment, music playing from the stereos and pavitr talking everybody’s ear off about god knows what. hobie had been silent for a while, no reason in particular, he’d been fiddling with the badges on his leather vest, in his own little world. well, until he felt a hand on his knee.

“hobie,” your voice was low, subtle, hanging just below the decibels of the melodies booming through the room, “are you alright? you’ve been quite quiet.”

“oh, uh,” he was taken aback, possibly by your hand that still lingered on his jeans, or how close he suddenly realised you were, seeing the soft details of your face and pigment in your cheeks for the first time, “yeah, no, i’m fine.” he cleared his throat.

smiling back at him, you took your hand away, moving back to get involved in the conversation again, not thinking much of it. regretfully, hobie looked up and saw pavitr staring at him, clearly having watched the ordeal and the excited smirk on his face told him that he’d definitely seen hobie flustered. he sighed.

after pavitr worked out that hobie had a thing for you, it was over for him.

he couldn’t even LOOK in your direction, without the shorter man hopping into his personal space, nudging him hard in the ribs, singing something about kissing in a tree.

constant comments about you to hobie

“y/n, i love your shirt! hobie, doesn’t it look so cool?”

“y/n! hobie told me to tell you he loves your shoes.”

“doesn’t y/n look sooo nice today! huh? hobie? what do you think?”

he was in hell, actually.

there was only so many "yeah, nice" he could say to you before he started to sound like a prick

on missions, he was insufferable

constantly making you guys work together somehow

“miguel, i think me and gwen work best as a team, don’t you think? y/n and hobie should do this one together”

swinging through the streets of whichever earth you were sent to, hearing distant yells of pavitr calling after you both “aren’t they cute together?!”

“good morning, hobie,” you grinned, sleep still evident in your voice as you wandered into the headquarters, beckoning to miguel’s very early morning mission call.

god, he was so thankful to have you alone for once. relief settled itself on his shoulders at the absence of his best friends’ watchful eye, happy to interact with you comfortably.

“mornin’,” he spoke, stretching his legs mindlessly out across the length of the desk, leaning back onto his arms, “how’d you sleep?”

“oh my god, i had the weirdest dream—” you begun, hopping up onto the adjoining surface, eyes lit up with passion as you ranted about the dream you had just resurfaced from.

he watched you the whole time, lips curling into a smile at the way you threw your hands around in the air as you spoke, reeling into every detail about your nonsensical experience. nodding every so often, he was almost enthralled by you – taking this peaceful moment as an advantage to see you properly. you were tired, sleep still evident in your eyes, hair a little chaotic in places, but the soft glow that it gave you made his heart skip.

he’d totally lost himself in speaking to you, listening to the excitement lacing your voice, that he didn’t realise other people had arrived.

well, until he felt a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“you guys are so cute together!” pavitr’s sing-song voice pierced hobie’s ears, shocked at the newcomers, “i saw the way you looked at them, loverboy.”

the nickname stuck

he’d been addressed more by “loverboy” than his own name, and his insides churned every single time

even gwen started calling him it, to which hobie would send a threatening glare

when you eventually did end up seeing each other, whether that be dating or other stuff, you both swore to keep it a secret

hobie refused to give pavitr the satisfaction of knowing he was right

so you would sneak around together, kissing in places you shouldn’t, stealing knowing glances in meetings, secret touches when no one was looking

he loved the risk of it all

but it was one afternoon, you’d both slipped away into an empty lab at the spider society headquarters, giggling to each other like kids as he dragged you into the vacant room

his hands were all over you, lips brushing whatever skin he could see, your arms slung around his neck as you kissed him

“did you lock the door?” you asked

“i thought you did.”

“OH. MY. GOD.” a third voice yelled.

you yelped, jumping away from hobie as a last ditch effort to maybe save some face

it was too late, pavitr stood there, mouth agape

hobie sighed, hanging his head

“GWEN! THEY DID IT!”

pavitr stepped back into the hallway and ran down towards where you’d both left them, his voice carrying through the metal walls

“LOVERBOY DID IT!”

you stood there, unsure whether if you just remained still, you could avoid whatever consequences you both faced

that was, until you felt hobie’s arm slide around your waist, pulling you back into him, an unintelligible look on his face

“we can’t keep it a secret anymore, i guess.” you spoke first, he let out a laugh

“i don’t think that’s such a bad thing,” he kissed you, softly.

a/n: hope this was okay!! currently got a bunch of requests in the works, so keep an eye out for more!!! also anymore headcanon ideas would be so fun!! thank u

[spencerreidenjoyer]

smut where spencer gets the boyband haircut and reader gets VERY excited by it? love your work!! ❤️❤️

a change of pace | spencer reid x reader

wc: 765, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: mention of spencer getting shot in the leg, vague descriptions of cunnilingus and vaginal sex, making out

a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! u r too sweet. i am sorry for not writing too too much smut but i thought this idea was cute and couldn't help but write something quickly for it! please send me more requests as i would love to write more short and sweet ficlets like this!!

“Oh my God,” you say, when Spencer walks through the door.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. “Is it that bad?”

“What? No, it’s not bad at all,” you stand up, meeting Spencer halfway as he walks over to you. You look up at him, running your own hand through his hair. It’s soft and fluffy after returning from the hairdresser, but inches shorter than it had been when he’d left home.

You liked his long hair, enjoyed combing your fingers through it while he laid his head in your lap, or in other less… innocent scenarios. He hadn't bothered to cut it after he’d gotten shot in the leg, a little too preoccupied with recovery to worry about the length of his hair. Lately, Spencer had been whining about his hair getting in the way when he was at work, or even making at-home tasks troublesome.

When you suggested he get a haircut, he was even worried as he asked, “But you like my hair long, no?” – as if your preference over the length of his hair would override his comfort. You’d booked him an appointment at the hairdresser instead, and Spencer had kissed you so sweetly it made you feel like your teeth would rot.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer asks, quickly snapping you back to reality. You’re still mindlessly running your fingers through his hair, and Spencer had fully let you, without stopping you, for what must have been minutes.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, stepping back, but Spencer’s hands are on your waist, and he doesn’t let you get away that easily. He gives you a look, and you can’t help but say, “Was thinking about your long hair.”

“You miss it? I know I shouldn’t have gotten it cut, darling–” Spencer starts, but you stop him.

“No! No, I love this look on you,” you state firmly. “It makes you look extra boyish. Handsome.”

“I wasn’t handsome before?” Spencer teases you with a lilt in his voice. “Also, I don’t know if I should take boyish as a compliment here.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Spence,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What I was saying is, I might need some time to get used to this haircut.”

You’re completely lying. This haircut is so attractive on him, emphasising his sharp features, making it painfully obvious just how handsome he is. He looks like a different man, so chic and suave with the shorter haircut, but it’s still your Spencer, and that makes you feel a little crazy. You want to jump his bones.

Spencer tilts his head curiously. “How so?”

“You know, your long hair was really convenient for when we… y’know,” you hum, your hands coming around to cup his face. You think your voice sounds a little more… sultry.

Spencer cocks his brow. “I think you need to be more specific, love.”

You huff, “Your hair was particularly helpful when your head is between my thighs, Spence.”

Spencer smiles, thoroughly smug. “Well, I don’t think my… capabilities are diminished with my shorter hair.”

“I think we should test that theory out,” you say, looking up at him. “Don’t you think so?”

“We should,” Spencer nods, and you quickly lean forward to kiss him. He pulls you closer by your waist, your hands sliding down to his chest. The both of you fumble your way to the couch, Spencer caging you in as he gets on top of you.

He kisses you wildly, and all you can do is put your hands in his hair and kiss him, let him ravish you just like this. You moan, as his hands slide down your body, touching you all over – your tits, your waist, your thighs, down to your ass, his hands groping at you needily, eagerly.

When he gets his head between your thighs, you find that his hair is perfectly serviceable as a grip to rut against Spencer’s skillful tongue, Spencer only pulling you closer to get you off. You’re more turned on than usual, wetter as he fucks you on his fingers, thighs clamping around his head as you shake with your orgasm, riding out your high for longer.

Spencer, perceptive as he is, absolutely notices it. Wiping your release from his hand and face with a tissue, he quips, “I assume you like the haircut then?”

You grin lazily at Spencer. “Very much so.”

He leans in to kiss you and easily presses his cock into you. It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm again, and for him to follow suit.

[moonstruckme]

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?” 

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on. 

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow. 

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.” 

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.” 

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Then why not wear something shorter?” 

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.” 

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching. 

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.” 

Spencer nods. “I believe you.” 

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before. 

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh. 

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.” 

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.” 

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?” 

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?” 

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.” 

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet. 

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?” 

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply. 

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.” 

You blow out a breath. “I want to.” 

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too. 

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide. 

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.” 

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?” 

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.” 

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder. 

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.” 

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?” 

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably. 

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely. 

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back. 

[little-miss-apple]

Hii I loved your one shots! Would you be willing to do one where Caleb is sick and hiding from MC again so she decides to get him to comply by doting on him and wearing a sexy nurse costume.

((gonna be really honest, i took some creative liberties with this request on accident... im not 100% happy with it but i feel like if i dont post it now, i'll never do it... also keep telling myself to writer shorter stories, but i like to suffer... hope u like it a bit regardless))

Whatever was the opposite of ‘the man flu’ is, Caleb had it. No matter how many times you had pushed him back into his bedroom, he kept sneaking out, claiming he couldn't leave all the chores to you.

You just wanted to take care of him, let him rest and sit back while you took care of the house and him for once. But Caleb is like a working cow, the life energy leaving him whenever he's not on the field... or whatever the saying is.

You were dancing and sining around the kitchen, absorbed in the music while grabbing more ingredients for the stew you were cooking. Sure, you were never as great of a chef as Caleb, but you could make him some healthy stew at least. Easy to digest and packed with vitamins.

"Needs some more curry powder, pips..." His unusually weak voice says from behind you.

You let out a yelp, having been to engrossed in the music to notice him sneaking out of his room again.

"Holy shit, Caleb!"

He fake gasps.

"Language, pipsqueak!" He says with a teasing glint in his tired eyes.

"I told you to stay in bed," you scold, hands on his chest as you try to push him away from the stove and back to his room. "You think just because you're a colonel now you can ignore my orders?"

He lets out a weak chuckle as his hands come up to hold your face.

"I wouldn't dare... who knows what you'd write about me in that little grudge ledger of yours..."

Of course he has to bring that up again...

"But seriously, pipsqueak, I'm feeling a lot bet--" He starts to cough mid sentence. 

"Liar." You mutter as you turn to grab him a glass of water, handing it to him while patting his back gently. When his coughing fit dissapates, you lead him back to his room, ignoring any protests.

"Caleb, why is it so impossible for you to just let me take care of you for once?" You ask when his tired frame is back in bed, posted up against the headboard.

A blush, unrelated to his fever, creeps up on his cheeks.

"...I want to be the one taking care of you. I want- No, I have to protect you... That's my role, pips..."

For a moment you are unsure what to tell him...

"Just... get some rest, okay? I'll bring you some stew when it's ready..."

You feel his eyes on you as you leave the room, he wants to say more. This discussion isn't a new one, but both of you know that right now he doesn't have the energy for this.

You're mindlessly stirring the pot of stew, his words about his role replaying in your head. If that is his role, what is yours? And what role do you have to take on to be able to take care of him? Then it hits you and within seconds you have an order placed.

Bless Skyhaven and it's drone speed delivery service, because within half an hour your new uniform has arrived. It was quite a bit shorter than you had imagined, but maybe you should have expected that. It was a halloween costume after all and not a real nurse's uniform.

The uniform is a light pink dress with red lining, a little nurse cap and matching stockings. A little red heart with white cross emblem is found on the cap and one the chest of the dress. It even comes with a hot pink plastic stethoscope and syringe. You don't even want to imagine Zayne and Yvonne's faces if they ever caught you like this...

Uniform on, tray with stew and the syringe in hand and with the stethoscope around your neck, you walk into the lion's den.

"Good evening, Mr Caleb. Your stew is ready!" you say as cheerful as possible.

His eyes grow incredibly wide the moment he lays eyes on you.

"Pips-"

"Nuh-uh, that's nurse Pipsqueak to you mister!" You say as you sit down on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bowl and spoon, blowing on it before guiding it towards his mouth.

He looks at you, a bit unsure for a second before finally daring to take a bite. 

"W-what's with the uniform...?"

"Well, since you said it's your role to take care of me, I thought i should adjust my role so i can be the one to take care of you now... Say 'ah'." You explain while feeding him another bite.

His eyes never leave you. Not when you feed him, not when you put his clean laundry in his drawers, even when you leave his room he asks you to keep the door open so he can continue taking secret glances when you bend over while cleaning, giving him a perfect view of your panties. In return he does everything you say, no protests, staying in his room and even taking the medicine he claimed he didn't need earlier today.

It doesn't take long for a healthier glow to return to his face and, according to the thermometer you are currently holding to his head; "Your fever has gone down significantly.. If you keep this up you'll be all good again tomorrow!" Your smile is bright but he can't help but frown a bit.

"You should sleep early! Getting enough shut eye is crucial to a speedy recovery!" you say as you get up, ready to leave his room and shed off the costume, but he holds you back. His fingers wrap around your wrist and he looks up at you with those puppy like eyes, an uncharacteristic darkness to them as he pulls you back down.

"Nurse... I have another problem..." 

He gently guides your hand under the covers, his eyes never leaving your confused face. Before long your hand is put on something thick and hard. Your eyes shoot wide open in bewilderment, but his gaze doesn't falter. Just the light touch of your hand where he needs you most has his chest rising and falling in a quickened tempo already.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, unsure of what to say.

"You know Ms Nurse, I've heard sweating out a fever is quite effective..." his hand slides from your wrist, instead entrapping your hand in his so he can apply some pressure, making you cup his rock hard cock a bit tighter "Won't you help your patient, hm? Make him feel better?"

The feeling of him in your hand, the way he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and the seductive tone in his voice make you involuntarily rub your thighs together, craving friction to your already wetting core. It doesn't go unnoticed by Caleb, he knows he has you exactly where he wants you now.

Within seconds the covers are slung to the side and he is sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, inviting you between them. Your hesitation is quickly thrown to the side when you see his shape through his grey sweatpants. You kneel in between his legs, noticing the semblance of a smirk forming on his face as you quickly start tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

You're taken by surprise a bit when his rock hard cock basically jumps out, smacking against his stomach. No matter how many times you see it, the intimidation from the size of it never leaves. Your fingers gently trail over the veins as you nervously swallow the saliva that had been pooling in your mouth. 

Carefully you begin to stroke his length, receiving instant affirmation that you're doing well as soft curses leave his lips. You let your thumb glide over the tip, spreading around some of his pre cum to help lubricate. You notice the muscles that are peeking from under his shirt contract with your every move.

"Come on, pips... Put your mouth on it..."

Wanting so desperately to please him, you waste no time, spitting on it before your lips quickly envelope around his velvety tip. 

"Fuck, you feel so good..."

Eagerly you take more and more of him in your mouth, not stopping until he hits the back of your throat. Whatever doesn't fit is massaged by your hand. You cant help but let your other hand wander between your own legs, playing with yourself through the fabric of your panties. It's sticky and messy, but feels oh so good. The vibrations of your moans as you bop up and down his length make him feel euphoric.

The sight of you like this, tits almost spilling out of your dress, your focussed face as you desperately try to please him and rubbing your clit, it almost makes him cum on the spot. His hand tangles into your hair, applying a light pressure when you go down on his cock. God, you feel heavenly. 

But he wants more.

The second he notices you getting sloppy, so close to rubbing yourself to release, he pulls your head back. The sight of your confused and fucked out face makes his cock twitch.

"Not yet..." he growls, at your frustrated pout. His shirt is pulled over his head and casted aside.

His lips surge towards yours, capturing them in an all devouring kiss. It's messy and chaotic. Tongues clashing, drool spilling and lip bruising. He pulls away a bit, admiring your hazy eyes and plump lips, before pulling down your lower lip with his thumb. He spits in your mouth, a proud smirk adorning his lips.

In one quick motion you are thrown onto your all fours on the bed and your costume is hiked up to your waist, giving Caleb a perfect view of your ass in those cute panties of yours. To be fair, all your panties were cute to Caleb, as long as they are yours. But right now, they're in his way. 

He pulls them to the side, taking note of the string of wetness attached to it. He throws his head back for a moment, eyes closed and breaths steady as he tries to compose himself down.

Wondering what is taking him so long, you turn your head around, only for him to suddenly align himself with your entrance and begin pushing himself fully into your sopping pussy. A strangled moan leaves your throat as your arms quickly give out, causing your head to fall into the sheets. Caleb's hands snake to rest on your waist, pulling you further onto his cock with every stroke. His tempo increases, balls slapping against your clit and making you dizzy with pleasure. 

Caleb loves the way you clench around him, the way he is moulding your pussy with his cock. Your combined juices are dripping down his thighs, fuelling him more and more, but he is also aware that he isn't full himself yet. His usual vigour isn't fully recovered yet, making his strokes rather messy and inconsistent. Frustrated he pulls out, making you snap back, confused why he has suddenly stopped pounding into that good spot.

"You need to ride me." 

He leaves no room for questions, already hoisted up against the headboard, pulling you into his lap. He aligns you with his still rock hard cock, pushing you down on his length. You whimper at the new position, feeling him in a different way all of a sudden. The cute sounds make him smile and he presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"Ready baby?"

You nod, eager to try a position you're not that familiar with. You're about to lift yourself up, but a familiar feeling takes over instead. Caleb's evol makes you feel weightless, unbound from the laws of gravity. His hands are still on your waist, his pointer finger going up and down in the same pattern as your body. 

The feeling of weightlessness continuously exchanged by the feeling of gravity pulling you down adds a whole new sensation, similar to riding a rollercoaster with steep highs and lows. The speed of his finger increases and so do you. He fucks you onto his dick with little effort, enjoying the way your face contours in pleasure and your tits bounce up and down right in front of his face. 

It doesn't take long for you to feel a familiar heat flow from your cores to the tips of your limbs. He can feel it too, the way your moans become more frequent and less controlled and the way you clench onto him more tightly. He is about to burst too, ready to coat your walls in his milky cum. His grip on your waist tightens as he can't help but use some more of his own strength.

"You close, baby? You wanna come on my dick?" 

"Yes, yes, yes.. please..." you beg him breathlessly, so close to the edge that it makes your tear up.

He bucks up his hips, slamming into you whenever you go down, hitting a spot so deep inside that it makes you gasp. With the limited energy he has he keep repeating the motion until you let out a string of curses, clenching onto his cock and milking him to his own orgasm. 

You can feel all the strength leave your body when you are hit with the hard, warm waves of your orgasm, limbs growing weak within the blink of an eye. You feel Caleb's cum fill you up, making you feel full and satiated. When he has completely emptied his balls inside you, the hold his evol had on you relents and you fall into his chest. And like always, he catches you. Holding you close as he whispers words of affirmation in your ear.

"You did so well... made me feel so good.. 'nd you looked so beautiful on my cock... such a pretty girl..." The words keep spilling from his lips as he pulls out and scoots down with you on his chest. Both of you are too tired to make another move, both unable to fight the tiredness taking over.

Sunlight hits your face, waking you up from the peaceful slumber you spent nestled in his muscular side. Caleb, who seems as healthy as ever, is already awake and seated against the headboard as he checks reports he missed from work. His hand is on your head, gently brushing his fingers through the strands.

"You're awake, pips?"

You groan a bit in response and stretch, only now noticing you are no longer in the nurse costume and instead in the shirt Caleb discarded yesterday. 

"Where's my dress?" you ask curiously.

"Threw it in the laundry.. I cleaned you off too but we should probably take a shower, we can save some water and take one together..."

"tsk... sounds like you're all better." you scoff trying to hide your grin.

"Had a great nurse..." he smiles teasingly.

"Maybe I should change career paths... I'll ask Zayne if he's in need of an extra nurse.."

"Nope," Caleb swiftly lifts you into his lap "Only I get the privilege of being cared for by you... Especially in that outfit."

His hands find their way to your cheeks before he plants a kiss on your lips.

"Now, let's get you all cleaned up, pipsqueak!"

[avaredava]

food for thought…

megumis gone for like a week on a solo mission and when he comes back u give him some “service” to help him relax from his stressful mission and i have two ways that ive thought abt this

a) yuji walks into the room to ask megumi abt his mission but finds u giving him head

b) yuji was hiding under the bed or in the closet or smth to try and scare megumi for shits n giggles and when u both walk into the room hes shocked to see u go down on him

whichever u way u decide to write (it if u do) it turns into both of them putting u into a wheelchair for the next week 👩‍🦽‍➡️

love ur workssssss xoxo 💟💟💟

This has been in my drafts and I forgot to post... I understand if you're upset! But here you areeee, enjoy!

Brilliant idea by the way yummy

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Master list's

⯌Sum

"Boo!- oops" said the surprised Yuji Itadori after trying to hide in Megumi's closet and seeing something... else.

⯌ Wc

0.6k

(shorter one sorry)

⯌ Warnings

three-sum, oral (both genders receiving), "princess parts" and "pussy" and "cock" and "shaft" used, Megumi instructions at Yuji

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Gojo has been a bit of an asshole to Megumi recently because he refused to call him dad. So he's been giving him missions until he does call him it.

And as you might know, Megumi Fushiguro is one of the most stubborn men to exist. So he's refusing.

Yet another mission...

Yet another-

Slam!

That's the noise of a pent up Megumi slamming the door after a long stressful mission. Yuji was in Megumi's surprisingly empty closet.

He hears your voice, you usually comfort him after the mission, your his girl after all. At least that's what Yuji thought you did in there.

Then he hears a small "mhh", it was definitely a pleasured noise by Megumi. He just thought it probably was him getting a massage or something.

The look on poor Yujis face was so shocked when he ran out of the closet about to say "boo" and saw you on your knees on the floor while he was sitting on his bed.

His cock was down your throat, Megumi's vainy hand gripping your hair moving you up and down his cock.

Megumi's head was thrown back and his cheeks were flushed pink. It was such a pretty sight until Megumis teary eyes fluttered open and quickly widened, Yuji's eyes were wide open.

Megumi gently tried to pull at your hair and you sucked harder making him let out a pretty moan making Yuji's pants get tighter and tighter.

Yuji slowly goes behind you two and realizes your pussy is bare and dripping. Your princess parts looking lonely and practically begging to be touched.

"Megumi should I touch her?" Yuji quickly asked. He just felt bad... also maybe if he made you feel good, maybe you two would make him feel good too. But that's for next time.

Yuji always thought you were cute but your Megumis. But he always wanted to hear you moan too. So he's practically begging in his mind for him to eat you out so you can continue also feeling pleasure. But the moans will give him some pleasure too.

"F-Fine." Megumi tries to sound tough but it comes out in a pathetic whine.

Yuji's quick to go down on all fours like a dog and jammed his tongue in your tight pussy. His cock is practically gonna explode when he realizes how tight you are.

You're gobbling up Megumi's cock. Moving your head up and down his thick shaft. His red mushroom tip smacks against the back of your throat making you gag. But you like it.

Megumi cums down your throat as you suck extremely hard and lick hard up and down his length. He whimpers as you take his cock from out of your mouth.

Yuji looked up his cheeks red. He was surprised when he noticed how big Megumi was. He was picturing your little scrunched up face riding Megumi.

"Yuji i'm allowing you to touch my girl. One time thing. So be grateful, and make her feel good." He nods and shoves his tongue in your pussy making you whimper.

Megumi goes on the floor beside you guys and pets your hair. Your head goes in his lap as you arch. It's so amazing, getting eaten out from the back as you're getting praised by your boyfriend.

"You gonna cum baby?" Megumi says in a way too sweet voice you barely recognize. You nod with a teary look in your eyes. Your face scrunches up as Yuji suckles hard on your clit.

And that just made you cum, also hard.

Megumi kicks Yuji out. "Remember he was here for pleasure only. You're mine." You nod overstimulated.

But you're not surprised when Megumi calls Yuji over for "the game". (It was on tomorrow not today)

[mediumgayitalian]

do you have favorite appearance headcanons for will and nico? always super fun to see how other people imagine them

i do a lot of imagining everything @cometjuice and @skysmadness draw. however im going to start typing and see what my subconscious says:

WILL SOLACE

he's tall. altho he grew up short as shit so he's humble. except when bothering cecil but that is unrelated. short jokes made at cecil don't count.

forearms and neck are Covered in burn scars as a result of his harnessing the power of the sun to heal. they are unfixable and obvious (consequences of divine power in a mortal body). they expand and thicken every time he heals. he wraps them with bandages as often as he can. he is ashamed of them.

(none of his other siblings were so weak as to be burned by the gifts their father gave them.)

blue eyes that are the exact color of the sky at all times.

big hands.

freckles on freckles.

doesn't resemble his mother much which bothers him. but he has her hair exactly -- NOT apollo's. it is curly as fuck and frizzy and a little bit sentient?? once he was forced into a haircut bc he wouldnt brush his hair (hates it) and no matter how much silena cut off it just didn't get shorter. he has not been forced into a haircut since lol.

likes to wear his hair in pigtail braids when possible. it's very cute. he uses those little charm elastics to tie them back. his favorites are skull charm elastics nico bought him as a joke.

he is his mother's mirror tho. copies her mannerisms EXACTLY and has no fucking clue. (everyone else is well aware)

he is red green colorblind and it does indeed impact his ability to dress. (well theoretically. seeing color might not help with that battle LOL)

long long LONG and strong legs.

front teeth are just a littttttttttle bit endearingly big.

can't wink. (THINKS he can wink. cannot.)

athletic and hot.

it is news to him that he's hot. because his experience has been 1) cecil (dumb & ridiculous) 2) drew (disaster & for the ritual) and 3) nico (burning the torch since age 10 & no one agrees with him)

strong arms. perfect hug pressure

air hands but massive.

always smells like sunshine, even if it's been raining for a week. he's one of those people who always smells like they've just been outside. he also smells like lavender, which is intentional, because he uses lavender soap knowing it can have calming qualities. he smells like peppermint, sometimes, but if he smells strongly of peppermint it means he's in the throes of a nasty nasty migraine and hurting.

(his totally plain skin smells like strawberries on the wrong side of overripe. he is aware of this. he despises this. he spends a lot of time making sure he smells like anything else instead, including antiseptic.)

(nico likes the smell.)

NICO DI ANGELO

short. unfortunately. and NOT humble

fine hair but a lot of it. kind of a wave to it also.

hairy generally kind of u should See his eyebrows.

greek nose.

three distinct scars across his face and also in many other places. he doodles on them. badly. like little stick figures use the scars as spears or swords or whatever lol

committed to the punk loser aesthetic. never brushes his hair band shirts exclusively disgusting combat boots aviator jacket swaggers everywhere etc etc

fire hands

very strong but not a lot of muscle definition. will kind of limp into the ampitheater to get the ares kids snickering then BAM hell's fury. he kicks their ass. and the pathetic wet dog look works for him every time. it doesn't matter how many times he destroys his enemies. he walks into a fight looking like he was just drowned in a bucket of milk and he is underestimated. and then he does insane unprecedented things. it's great.

(it scares normal people. luckily for him his freakazoid boyfriend thinks it's hot. lol)

calluses on calluses on calluses. from cooking from his sword for his general vibes. rough ass hands fighter hands.

just The brownest eyes you'll ever see. dark dark dark dark. almost black. STUNNING in sunlight. they go golden brown when will looks at him, too.

wears his hair in a stubby ponytail whenever possible. (for 'fighting'. and not at all bc will gets swoony or anything. obviously. nico would never do that to his boyfriend of course not)

slightly crooked inscisors.

weird weird accent when you listen closely. because there's a little tinge of stretched vowels from his childhood but he almost has like. a transatlantic drawl?? from the casino?? and of course he spent so long on the streets and in the underworld that his vocabulary is unhinged and insane.

got bullied by hazel into actually taking care of his hair. it's really nice now. shiny and everything. he tries to now bully will but that is useless will is a 3-in-1 shampoo truther until he dies ("It's efficient! Hair is mostly dead cells! I am not wasting money on dead cells!" "William I am going to shear the fuckin dead cells off your scalp how about that.")

since he is a menace he frequently smells like sword polishing grease and dirt from the amount of time he spends Dragging percy and jason and any other person who challenges him across the amphitheater floor. but when he cleans up he smells like woodsmoke, a little bit, and leather from his jacket.

(his plain skin smells like dirt. grave dirt, if he's feeling sullen, but will insists it's more like the soil right when you're weeding your garden. like the soil right before plants grow, when it is most full of life and water and waiting. nico shoves him and calls him a sap. but it's nice to hear.)

[princessmaeee]

{ All For Us } Part IV Part I - Part II - Part III

This chapter is shorter than the others, i’m sorry, but I really wanted to focus on reader and Thanos feelings, relations, sensations and writhe a beautiful Smut, not just straight up porn.

It gonna my first F U L L Smut in English, so i’m really sorry for 100% bilingual person who gonna read this, but iI swear I did my best. I red a lot of smut before or have dark romance Book at home, so Im not new to this i’m just new to writhe it 😂

If you are not comfortable With Smut, You can Skip the entire Chapter cause it will mostly be it. Sorry not sorry

I hope you will Enjoy it cause not gonna Lie, even if I L O V E smut, I always feel weird to writhe ones.

TW : Smut - P in V - Bitting - Praise kink - Cunni - Thanos behing fucking hot and adorable. Idk for real. it's a fucking smut, figure it out

TagList : @private-vampire @rafesbunniebby @ultracoolnobody @chxrrybomb22

You stayed silent at his question, squeezing tighter your arms as your eyes looked away from his insistent look. You didn’t want to talk about any of this, not here, not now. You wasn’t ready. You weren't ready to talk about your fear, your anxiety, your stress, not ready to talk about the baby and every feeling you have. You weren't ready to face reality. 

You could feel your eyes getting wet, your vision blurring as your body started to shake. Your mouth opened up, you tried to answer, but nothing came out.

You could hear Thanos get closer to you by the sound of the wet floor under your feets. The more step he made to you, the more your heart raced in your chest.

«-I’m sorry.»

That’s all you managed to say. Your voice was a shaking mess. Anxiety started to rush more and more through your veins, insanely going to your brain and making it more fuzzy. You didn’t know why you were sorry. That’s not the thing you wanted to say, but you feared Thanos' anger and you didn’t want to make him mad. 

His silence stressed you more and His step got closer to you.

«-I didn’t know what to do, I never planned any of this. It just happened and I couldn’t just get rid of the kid. What happened is not his fault. I- »

You were cut By Thanos Lips on yours as his large hands cupped your face. You were caught by  surprise by this attention, but it made you feel your stress vanish as soon as you felt him. His lips, his touch, his warmth, all of this made you feel safe. 

Thanos kiss was passionate, eager for you. You don’t remember the last time he kissed you like this. You were still mad about him for what he'd done to you, but right now you couldn’t care less. You needed him probably as much as he Needed you.

Your arms slid around his neck, you fingers lost themself in his purple hair as you answered to his kiss with the same passion, you had missed this feeling that only he can make you feel.

Your lips spread a little bit to let your boyfriend’s tongue pass between them to come meet up with his twin. Your tongues started to dance a beautiful tango of passion. 

Thano’s hands, who were now on your Hips, pressed you more against the cold wall behind you, making you moan through the kiss under the icy effect.

You didn’t realize how much you needed to breathe until Thanos pulled away from your lips, leaving you with flushed cheeks, swollen Lips and a strong need between your legs.

«-Fuck.. »

He whipped out some saliva on his lips, looking at you with the same desir in his eyes as you have for him.

«-Did I already told You how beautiful you are when you look like this. »

You looked away, embarrassed and covered your body with your arms. You completely forgot for a moment that you were Naked. Thanos rooming over your body and stops at your small belly before gently putting his hand on it, making you shiver.

«-I should have been there when you got the news. »

He take a little break before his eyes going back to you as his hand on your belly came to take your chin, forcing you to look at him.

«-I know I fucked up, but I want to be there for you and for our baby. »

‘’ Our ‘’ Baby. It was the word who made you flinch. Your weakness all exposed you couldn’t hold your tears anymore and just hugged him. Your face in his chest you start to cry like you never did before. All those feelings could finally break free ; Sadness, fear, happiness. It was a messy mix of everything. Thanos hugged you back and placed his hand on your head.

«-I love You Y/N I always did, even If I never told you. High or Not, you always were on my mind since the day we met. You are the drug I can’t quit.-Fuck You Su-Bong, you should have told me that before…»

You still cried in his arms as he gently caressed your hair.

«-I know. I’m sorry. I’ill Understand if you want me to fuck off and leave You alone, but please don’t push me away from this kid. He’s not even born yet but I already feel like I could kill for that Child...»

You sniff and look up at your Boyfriend who smiled at you.

«-You’re not mad about that ?-About what ? You being pregnant ? How could I ? This is the living proof that I  marked You inside and out, He answered with a Smirk.»

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling as a little amusing ‘’ gross ‘’ came out of your mouth.

Thanos gets on his knee in front of you and gently kiss and talk to your little bump. It was adorable, but also pretty hot. 

Your arousal from the kiss was still there, you squeezed your tights to try to calm down, but the image of his lips and tongue between your legs was too hot to be ignored. Your breath started to be a little bit heavier as you put your shaking hand in Thanos' hair.

«-Su-Bong, can You… »

Thanos looked up at you and smiled when he noticed your state.

«-Princess want to be taken care of, hm ? »

His deep voice, his pet name for you, it turned you on more as you nodded at his question.

It didn’t take that long for him to start his magic, first with his fingers, sliding them between your already dripping folds. You spread your legs a little to let him have some space, but he wanted to have the perfect view. Gripping your Tight, he put it on his shoulder, making you blush. 

«-I like to see How wet I can make you »

His fingers slide easily in you, making you gasp. He moved it in and out at a slow pace before his lips came to meet your Clit, sucking it at first before his tongue started to work around. 

Eyes closed you pull on his hair under the sensation of his hot mouth around your sensitive part. It felt more sensitive than it was before, making you moan his name again and again. You had to put your other hand on your mouth to shut you up. Grinting, Thanos stop his work on your clit and bites the skin of your tight, making you scream.

«-Remove that hand or I will bite Harder. -But, the guards will hear everything..»

He bites you again, sucking on your skin as his fingers continue to move in and out. He curled them a little bit when he felt he hitted the good spot. When his teeths let go of your skin, it hurt and you noticed the bruise Thanos had let you. He kisses the painful part before looking at you again.

«-Your hand, Beautiful, he said as a warning.»

You slowly removed your hand which covered your mouth, making him smile.

«-That’s my good girl. »      

Oh gods, you like it so much when he gives you that kind of pet name, when he praises you and he could tell by how hard your inside squeezed his fingers. 

Removing it from inside of you, Thanos gets up and starts to Undress under your hungry eyes. You have seen him more than once but you still feel amazed by how hot he looks. Once he’s naked, he grips your ass and pulls you from the ground and you wrap your hands around his hips as he easily inserts himself in you. 

You felt your inside stretch out and that was simply divine. You took  him like you were made for him. As he feel you clench around him, Thanos let a hungry grunt escape his lips. His forehead placed on your shoulder, he try to focus to not just destroy you.

«-Please… Su-bong, don’t hold back.»

His hands on your ass grip you harder as he pressed your back against the wall before starting to move. The feeling of each other was insanely amazing. Behind moans, growls, slurpy kiss and love bite all over each other’s body, you was both somewhere else where only you two belong, feeling like your soul could escape your body, making only one. Behind pleasure, you felt safe, you felt loved, it was all you needed.

«-I love you »

You managed to moan to thano’s ear as you grip his shoulder a little bite more. You could feel your orgasm coming quickly.

«-I love you too princess, so fucking much.»

He kissed you again as you came undone around him. Moaning trought the kiss. You became more sensitive and since Thanos didn’t stop moving, trusting  faster and harder inside you, You came another time and it Didn’t took long to your partner to do the same. 

You both were breathless, every muscles of your bodies was tired and so do you. You needed sleep and your eyes started to close as you rest your forehead on thanos shoulder.

«-Don’t fall asleep Now, we need to wash ourself before.-Yeah… you’re right.»

Thanos pulled out of you and put you back on your feets. Your legs was shaky, you needed your boyfriend’s help to stand. 

As your partner opened the water, he helped you wash yourself, making you blush.

«-I can do it myself, you know… -You seem tired. Let me help you for this time.»

He gently kiss you and continue his task as you let him do it, but only for this time.

[charmedreincarnation]

hey i finally entered void after 4.5 months!! i can’t believe my life is so so fun now!!!

what i used :

• tumblr for resources; i learnt a lot from bloggers post which introduced me to void.

• subliminals on youtube: i just listened to it twice daily but i think u can skip this step

it was such a struggle at first but i let all the tension go away for me to embody it…

what i manifested✨

height and face; i was 5’11 before but i wanted to be shorter cause i didn’t like being tallest amongst all girls and even guys. i changed it to 5’3. now i think i look like cute. for face - foxy or siren eyes, positive canthral tilt, fuller lips, no eye bags, sharper nose. i think i might play around my facial features a bit more until i am satisfied with it haha.

avatar editor irl: i used to play sims 4 a lot a lot !! since 5 years i’ve been playing it. if you play it too you know there’s a CREATE A SIM page. it’s somewhat like that but for me in my phone as an app. i can choose clothes or facial features and it changes my face or clothes or accessories irl!! if ur a shifter its like a “LIFA APP” as you’ve heard.

gaming; i am a gamer and i can enter any gaming world at anytime instead of playing it on screen and let me tell u girl!! life has been so fun since!! but dw i don’t “die” in it i just respawn and also pain setting is 0 i dont feel pain when i enter games. sorry but i also play shooter games haha, dw they’re NPC AS THEYRE IN GAME THEY DONT FEEL HURT.

be a good student; i didn’t cancel school cause i just love the drama that’s going on loll, and i love outshining people. so i just manifested that i become a good student. whatever i read once i can remember without any revision required. also be more logical to solve math. cause girl i used to FLUNKKK!!

Boyfriend!!: holy i should have put it in number one!! THIS ONE OF THE BESTEST!! he’s literally in the kitchen making me dumplings cause yk- i made him a chef!! btw i made him from scratch from CREATE A SIM lol!! i revised that he has always been going to my school and one year older than me. he’s so handsome istg!! kind of a combination of jacob elordi and jungkook? i can’t explain!! u get it tho!;) and he’s also so respectful to women ! oml! almost opposite of those red pilled men (yuck!!!)

friend group: theyre so kind and diverse!! it’s vast !! (17 people incl me) and everyone is so amazing kind talented and everyone’s from a diff countries!!

language : i can speak korean now, fluently!

there is so many other minor things but these r my faveee!!! ty ty ty for reading and all the bloggers who have helped us.

and if u haven’t entered, what r u even thinking! u have and you’ll change ur life in a split second like me!! don’t worry about taking too much time luvzzz!!

seee u!!!!

So happy for you love 💕 congrats, and thank you for the tips. Also you’re real for making your bf from scratch 😭😭

[yrqrnc]

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 STRAY KIDS : SMILING WEIRD AT THEM UNTIL THEY NOTICE

genre: fluff, crack, pranks

pairing: skz x reader

bringing the tiktok pranks back bcs i need funny headcanon ideas to write 😁🙏🏻

some member's parts might be a bit shorter than the rest bcs i wrote some while being sugar high at 2:50 in the morning so pls excuse that

leave comments, reblog, and feedbacks pls <3

𖤐 CHAN : —

is 70% concerned 30% holding his laugh

you approached him and started a normal conversation on a very normal thursday afternoon so he thought everything was nice and ok in the house and with you???

he guesses not, a minute or two into the talk 😟

bcs why are you smiling at him in a way that would summon his sleep paralysis demon at night???

he already sleeps so less now he fears he will have to sleep even less.

is too worried to say anything about it because what if this is actually your true smile and you’re just getting comfortable around him and he hurts your feelings by making a comment about it?

right????

but he’s also starting to get scared because wHAT HAPPENED TO HIS BABY YOU’VE NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE 😭😭😭 WHAT WENT WRONG ⁉️

PLS BRING THEM BACK 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

doesn’t say anything but gets so tensed during the convo and gives you this look that has you breaking character shortly after, bcs you burst out laughing and going back to that cute big smile he was used to and the one he adored.

(sorry, writer-break-in: now if anyone comments abt how they ugly laugh, i’m gonna smash my guitar on your head. chris says that’s cute, so it’s cute. you don’t get a say.)

then he’s like “oh ☺️ that’s it. here they are <3”

thinks about it when he lays in his bed at night tho

might make him rethink everything and consider your health (mental & physical) for a couple days 😕👎🏻

𖤐 MINHO : —

right, ok. so, he notices it so quick

this man is VERYYY very very observant and he knows you like the back of his hand

so the moment you flash your worst smile as he’s in the midst of talking, taking just the chance when he looked to the side for a sec—

he catches it from his peripheral vision, snaps his head at you and he goes 🤨⁉️ (15% concerned 85% judging)

stares at you silently for a while after that, trying to figure you out

🧍🏻😾❓️ (yes.)

when you act completely normal and ask him why he stopped, telling him to continue and all that, he cautiously goes back to saying what he had been talking about

but then you pull your shit again and he catches it this time too right away

(bcs he’s always looking at you when he’s talking. he looks at you when you’re talking too. he looks at you. he just loves looking at you, that’s honestly it. bro is just an eye-contact and make their knees weak type of person)

and he knows he isn’t high

looks straight at you and goes — “what’s wrong with this one... 😐”

and you’re all like “what??? 😠🦿🦿 what’s wrong w me???” bcs how dare he say that in that tone

“why are u making yourself look like that plushie whose face doongie scratched up last week”

LMAOOOO 😭😭😭 SAVE YOURSELF

so you’re throwing hands now (& terribly failing) and this is the only part of your stupid prank that minho is finding fun

𖤐 CHANGBIN : —

HELP.

doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry someone pls take him away from you 🙁🙏🏻

he’s just casually telling you about this sick rap that he came up with yesterday night in the studio

and you’re nodding and laughing, and he turns to focus on you more and finds you like: 😁 i mean 👹???

and the lOOK THAT PASSES THROUGH HIS EYES AND THE WAY HIS SMILE DROPS SO SLOWLY

WITH AN EYE TWITCH TOO

LORD HELP ME

no HELP SEO CHANGBIN ACTUALLY

bro freezes but then he tries to play it chill, chuckling and being like “right... 😄☝🏻 hahah hahahahah so i was saying... ”

but you keep doing it and he can’t ignore it anymore 😔

“...baby what’s wrong? do you feel sick?” and that too in such a scared voice yOU CAN'T KEEP UP THE ACT ANYMORE

once you tell him it’s a prank, relief washes over him like cold water on a scorching hot summer day and he laughs along with you

might haunt him when he’s alone in his studio at midnight tho

𖤐 HYUNJIN : —

judges you.

no i’m not even gonna try to be funny first

HE JUDGES 👨‍⚖️

you do it and he instantly goes “😦😣 what the fuck”

and you’re like “what? what happened?”

and he doesn’t even know what to say

then he switches up just as quickly and starts yapping again

but you do it again too

and he’s so fed up he goes “dude tf wrong w u 🙄”

and when you keep doing it, he starts iMITATING YOU TO MOCK YOU😭😭

now you’re both just flaring your teeth and gums at each other while cackling in between too, and anyone watching would’ve started praying honestly

later that day, after finding out it was a prank he’s just thinking... why is my partner like this... 😟

he loves u tho <3

𖤐 JISUNG : —

honestly bro...

he finds you adorable :(

like, you guys are casually talking one evening

and he’s telling you about this new anime he watched recently, that almost made him cry

and he’s telling you the amazing sad plot and all, and out of nowhere you just 😁

first he’s really caught off guard bcs... girl (gn!) what 😟 i said??? i almost???? CRIED??? HEARTBREAK?????

but then he just looks at you as you keep up w the goofiness when he speaks again, and he thinks to himself

:(“i love this idiot so much even tho i do feel half irritated and offended right now”

bcs even if you’re pulling your ugliest smile rn, he loves that sparkle in your eyes as you stifle a laugh back and the way almost break character everytime you make eye contact with him

sorry guys this is getting soft but

jisung just loves you very much ☹️☹️☹️

prank is all forgotten, you are just two young people in love <3

𖤐 FELIX : —

i would say he already knows what the trend is, but that’s really boring so let’s pretend that he’s actually getting fooled here.

the moment he sees u doing it, that epic felix thing happens again— where his smile gradually just drops and he has that :0 face in the funniest way

he isn’t sure if he should speak bcs what if that unleashes more of that demon in u 😓

he’s torn between two things actually: should he hug you and try to squish the demonic smile out of you, or should be just stay away and give u your space until ur okay again

bcs he isn’t sure about how fine you are with the way you’re smiling at him right now

he might just be like:

“haha hahahahah hahahah ok we laughed now can we pls have my partner and their sweet smile back 🙁”

genuinely doesn’t know what to do

half of him is scared, half finds you very cute, some other bits are thinking of ways to get back on a a prank of his lololololz

he decides to continue speaking bcs maybe you’ll get distracted by the talk and come back to him normally again

doesn’t happen. so now he’s just there and thinking abt how to fix u 😞🙏🏻

𖤐 SEUNGMIN : —

you hate him

you hate him so bad

he doesn’t give you any reaction AT ALL 😐👎🏻

you start off gentle at first, right, like doing it when he wasn’t looking and then gradually more intensely and so he could clearly see

but nothing. no weird looks. no comments. no judgement.

NOTHING AT ALL?!^#^*@#,

at some point you get all up in his face and you’re like 😁😁😁👹😁😁😁👹😁😁❓️❓️❓️

and mf just keeps talking like nothing is wrong or off

it gets you more and more frustrated with each passing second but man, if you’d put that irritation aside and looked more closely into his facial expressions,

you would’ve seen the way the corner of his mouth lifted in the slightest and that glint of mischief in his eye

but you don’t 🙄

when you finally give up and go “babe why aren’t you asking me why i’m smiling weird??? 😕”

he... he says... he’s like—

“huh? but don’t you always smile like that?”

damn y/n 😥💔 that’s how it was huh

you’re abt to poke his eyeballs out and then shit tears yourself

jk dw tho he’s just teasing you

he stays with felix enough to know about these ideas

and from how you’ve done multiple pranks on him before, everytime you do something weird or out of place now, he just assumes you’re onto some prank

𖤐 JEONGIN : —

HE GETS SCARED PLS DONT😭

NO LIKE he actually starts taking it in all the wrong ways

when he sees you smiling like that.. there’s this STORM of emotions that starts cooking up inside him 😭

“are they ok” “are they mad at me and trying to play it off” “is this a trick move” “is this a prank and if so how should i react that it would make me seem cool and—”

but then... SUDDENLY

he suddenly remembers this piece of information he read on the internet LONG time back, like, AGES ago !! that said like

if someone is having a stroke or about to, their smile will be crooked / really weird and off/abnormal

....

no way... right ?

HIS BABY 😟😕🥺🥺😭😭😭 (emojis are satire im not—)

“...baby 😨😰 i think... i think you’re about to have a stroke 😣 or ARE YOU HAVING IT ALREADY 😰😢😢 HAS IT STARTED😭⁉️”

now ur not sure if u should stop or continue and whether u should laugh, cry or bonk him in the head

but he’s just a jeongin 🙁🎀